I Will Come Back
by RewritetoMakeitPerfect
Summary: When WWIII begins, Clary is dragged into a mandatory training camp for the summer, where she becomes the target of a mysterious enemy. Things are starting to look uphill, however, until she finds out that the boy she loves is being sent to the center of the war and may never come back. Plenty of betrayal, angst, and Clace! Graphic scenes. AU and AH.
1. Prologue

**MUST READ:** This fanfic does not revolve around World War II, but WWIII. However, to not cause confusion or misunderstanding, I'm using the same countries as it was in WWII for my Allies and Axis. Be in no way offended - I'm not targeting any country and there's nothing personal. Please, if you are upset about this arrangement, don't write hate reviews and keep your thoughts and comments to yourself. I welcome criticism and story suggestions, but I recommend that everyone keeps it polite. This story may have a rocky start but I promise it will progress into a better fanfic later on. In case you didn't notice the M rating, I want to emphasize that this story will have a lot of verbal abuse (it relates to the setting and mood however) and graphic descriptions, so please be warned. Things will get disgusting (torture scenes, battle scenes, etc.). There will also be racial slurs (Japs, Chinks, Cracker), and I'm extremely sorry if you're against these derogatory words. I am as well, but for the sake of making this story as realistic as possible, I will throw in a minimal number of them here and there. Again, please do not think any of this reflects what I as an aspiring author believe to be right, as I am far from doing that. Thank you for your understanding. Other than that, enjoy! P.S. I'm rarely this formal... I have no idea why I was in the first place... Anyway, I don't bite! ;)

 **Note about the characters:** There will be a LOT of development for Clary. She might seem like a weak, judgmental girl in the beginning, but trust me, she's far from it. Later on it really shows. Please be patient with me and my terrible character portrayals - I'm not super good at writing fanfics and I'm more used to writing completely new novels. :( Bear with me, though, I promise you won't be disappointed! Many of the characters will hopefully stay the same, as in with the same personality as found in the original TMI books, so... Yay?

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

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WAR BREAKS OUT IN FLORIDA.

My spoon falls into the bowl of cereal. Disbelieving, I snatch up the paper from off the table and press the words to my eyes. _Florida?_ Panic wells up within my chest and with a mouthful of milk and Cheerios, I yell, "Hey, Mom, where did Sebastian get sent off to again?"

"What, honey? I can't hear you!" Jocelyn replies from the second floor, and I sigh before repeating louder, "Did Seb depart for Florida last year?"

"Yes, I think so. Why?" A loud crash from above makes me wince. Gods, when will my mother ever learn to take care of herself?

I get up with my unfinished breakfast and dump the remaining contents into the sink. _The New York Times_ goes into the trashcan in the cupboard. "Nothing, Mom, I was just wondering. He's coming back for a visit next week though, right?"

"Right..." Her voice trails off at the end absentmindedly, and then suddenly perks up with, "Clary, you remembered your pictures and posters? And your brushes?"

I'm pretty sure she isn't referring to my toothbrush, a much more conventional item to bring than paintbrushes. But nonetheless, I'm glad she at least pays some attention to my hobbies, or perhaps she'd only noticed because she herself obsesses over art. I grab my suitcase and carry-on bag and sling it over one shoulder. It already seems like a tonne, and some part of me wonders how on Earth I'll ever be able to survive military training.

Ever since World War III erupted, all students aged 16 and up have to trade summer camp for training camp all the way in chilly Canada, where there is more than enough space to house several million shivering adolescents. I don't particularly have anything against this idea, maybe because what we learn there might save our lives, but at least the government could've shortened our school year to allow _some_ sort of break in between. Even spring break and winter break are devoted to camp, and I honestly wonder when university kids get to see their parents. That's why I'm begging the war to be over by the next two years when I finally get shipped off to college - that and because war is war. "Yeah, I did. There are leftovers from yesterday in the fridge if Valentine doesn't make it back home at night and when I'm gone, please don't use the stove."

"What about baking? Can I bake?" The words have just registered in my brain before I automatically think back to the last baking incident, where my mom had burnt the entire oven into charred metal. The smokey smell had stayed for two weeks.

"Maybe not, Mom. If you want cake, ask Dad to buy some from the bakery, okay?" I wait for the noise of confirmation and once I receive a hum of acknowledgement, I close the door. In frustration, I mess up my hair with my hand and jump on the spot a couple times before walking off the porch and heading towards the bus stop. The house looks so lonely from the end of the street. Large, but lonely. Valentine's away for most of the year with his war duties and all that crap and Sebastian's off fighting on the eastern coastline of Florida, leaving only mom and I in the four-story mansion. We hardly get a chance to have a family reunion, and the last one was all the way before Seb was towed off by his group of 'friends' to join the actual military, a year ago. I look back wistfully before boarding the bus and once I find a seat and the bus pulls out of the street, I pull out pencils and my thick-papered notebook sketch a rough picture of my brother on the first blank page.

Little did I know it would be last time I saw him.

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 **Hey everyone! Thanks for checking out my story and if you have any thoughts, feel free to put them into a review.**

 **Why Canada? Because I live there and I want to keep my story in a place I know well.**

 **You might have also noticed the shortness of the chapter and the reason for this is because I want to update often and keep it short and sweet. I used to write really long chapters and it felt as if I wasn't progressing fast enough with each chapter (I tend to either give too much description or too little). Anyway, this story will probably have a lot of chapters due to each one's length, but I'm not completely sure what I'm going to do with it. I know the beginning, middle, and end, but nothing in between. If you guys have any suggestions, shoot.**

 **Again, thanks for reading!**

 **-RtMiP**


	2. Cranberry Juice

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

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The bus hiccups along the road and trees that I rarely get to see zoom past the open, broken coach bus window. The seat next to me is empty, so I've placed my bag on it and my suitcase right below the seat in front of me. The storage department below the bus is completely full, anyway.

This is the second time on this exact bus that I'm heading to Toronto in a thirteen-hour long drive from NYC. The last time, I'd been called back home two hours after I got there and was exempted from camp for the rest of the summer. This year, though, there was nothing to keep me from making a fool of myself in front of every single teen in America. Because I'd missed the entire course last year and there was no grade set-back or fast-forward system in Canada (which is pretty stupid in my opinion - they're taking this 'equality' thing _way_ to far), I'll have to do my best to catch up. How am I supposed to 'catch up' three months of information with three more months of information already ahead of me? Catch up my ass.

And then there's the fact that the person in front of me is blasting music from a speaker and the person behind me is yelling at the person _in front_ of me to lower the volume. What an enjoyable bus ride. Finally I can't take it anymore. I stand up, steadying myself on the headrest and look at the bobbing high ponytail below, then tap the girl's shoulder lightly. Her head whips around, lashing my with her hair, and smiles, pulling out one of her earbuds. My breath catches horribly as I see Dream Clary right then and there, with curled dark hair, large dark eyes, and thick red lips. Dammit. I steel myself and say, "The wire isn't connected to your speaker."

Her eyebrows rise and her mouth forms an 'o.' She looks down at her lap and shakes her head. "No wonder the sound wasn't coming out right. Sorry about that."

"You should be," a voice comes from behind me, and I turn to see a tall, lanky boy with chocolate-colored hair and luminous blue eyes. His expression is something between annoyed and bored. "I've been hollering for you to turn the thing down for the past half-hour."

"Fuck off, Alec. I couldn't hear you." The girl turns her head again, whip-lashing me once more. I purse my lips but don't say anything.

"Yeah, but the entire bus could hear _you_. Your playlist sucks, you know that?" The cat-eyed boy beside him pats Alec's forearm calmly, and then looks out the window as if nothing happened. The girl in front of me pulls out the wire again and cranks up the sound to its fullest. Heads turn and people wake up.

Someone pokes my shoulder and I almost jump. Alec has his hand out and he has to shout to be heard over the music. "Thanks for trying. I'm Alec."

I take his hand, still aware of the dozens of eyes on us. He doesn't let go, and instead looks at me expectantly. That's when I realize I'm supposed to exchange my name for his. I flush slightly. "Oh, right. I'm Clarissa, but you can call me Clary."

"Clary." Somehow he makes my name sound appealing. "You headed to camp too?"

"Where else?" I take my seat again but keep myself twisted in spot so I can still see Alec.

He looks me up and down, but there's nothing uncomfortable in his gaze. Then he says, "You don't look sixteen yet. Fake ID?"

I blink in surprise and shake my head. "No, I'm actually seventeen."

It's his turn to be shocked. No doubt I look thirteen to him, especially with his height. I wouldn't be surprised if he told me he was in late college. "Sorry, you just look..."

"Tiny?" I smile. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"How come I didn't see you last year, then? This should be your second year, right?" Alec seems genuinely curious, so I say, "Just some family issues. Do you think you could show me around?"

"Tough, considering I'm a male," he says and grins, but seeing the confused look on my face, explains, "There're crazy-strict gender rules there, practically prohibiting any opposite sex interaction outside of training time. It sucks, but is kinda smart, especially after Maia got raped. But hey, chill. Isabelle there can be the tour guide."

At the sound of her name, Isabelle whips around and smacks me in the face for a third time. I take a deep breath. In an exasperated voice, she says, "What do you want, Alec?"

"Clary here skipped last year and wants someone to help her out. You up for it or are you finally deciding to change your playlist while you still have WiFi?" he teases, and I smile involuntarily, but then frown. No WiFi there? Three months? Jesus, is this jail or camp?

"Only if you don't tell anyone I've got my phone," Isabelle says and looks at Clary pointedly. Great, the letter she'd received a week ago telling her that no electronic devices were allowed wasn't kidding. "Maybe I'll even let you use it to call mommy."

"Iz, was that really necessary?" Alec huffs, and then slumps back into his seat to begin a one-way conversation with the boy beside him.

Isabelle grins and waves his comment off. "I'm only kidding, Clary. And yeah, I guess I can show you some stuff. There're a bunch of rules you absolutely _need_ to follow in order to survive. Here," she says and shuffles around her purse until she brings out a thick wad of paper. "I prepared this just for newbies so I can get some cash out of this, but you look broke so I'm lending this to you for free. Be grateful."

"Um, thank you," I manage and accept the paper. My eyes run down the list, and then squint. "Uh, Isabelle, why are all the regulations something along the lines of, 'Leave the cranberry juice for Simon because he likes to think that he's a vampire and can drink blood'?"

"You'll thank me later," is all she says and then plugs her earbuds back into her speaker, allowing the bus to return to its silence.

I count the number of pages there are and groan.

* * *

 **Review if you enjoyed.**

 **-RtMiP**


	3. The Bathroom Has No Signs

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

* * *

"'Shun!"

The row of people on either sides of me shifts to attention, and I quickly copy their movements, begging to God that I don't look like a complete gull. The trainer, a large, gruff woman, barks out names from what I assume to be the attendance.

"Bane, Magnus, second year!"

"Here," the cat-eyed boy replies in a silky voice.

"I didn't hear you!" I wince. What does she expect us to do, sh-

"Here!" Magnus yells.

Yep, shouting it is.

The names seem to drag on forever, and I quickly lose interest. I look around when the woman's eyes are on her paper, taking in the massiveness of the training grounds. Dozens of off-white buildings are pushed to one clumped side, and several more squat halls sit right behind the trainer, with large oak doors and soldiers trailing through them. I crane my neck to the side and notice a large track, and within lay several columns of vine-looking structures. Just looking at them chills me.

"Morgenstern, Clarissa, second year!"

"Here!" I squeak, and then blush deep red. I try again, raising my voice before she could tell me off. "Here!"

The woman pauses and looks me up and down and I squirm, feeling like a lab animal. Suddenly, she furrows her eyebrows and lowers her voice. "I expect better from you, Miss Morgenstern."

Heads swivel in my direction and I flinch, wondering why she had to address me as 'miss' and why she expected more when I should be worst of her pupils. But instead of getting riled up, I nod and hang my head. Some part of me already kind of knows the reason behind it, but not an ounce wants to accept it. Fortunately, the woman leaves it at that and continues with, "Penhallow, Aline, third year!"

I once again zone out until she yells, "Whitewillow, Kaelie, second year!" I snap to attention just as she says, "Soldiers, stand at ease." So much for timing.

Then she begins an introduction speech, which I cling to with every word, desperate to make up for what I have lost. "Alright, it seems like most of you are here. Newbies, you'll be following Sergeant Blackthorn to your living quarters and he'll tell you everything you need to know. For the rest of you, you'll be following last year's trainers into the building for re-registration and a quick overview with what the curriculum will be for this year. Fifth and sixth years, go to the simulation grounds and get yourselves organized after registration."

She stops talking abruptly, and I watch as she marches off. _That's it?_

The ranks around me immediately begin filing off, other than the first-years. I cringe every time I get called a second-year, knowing that I couldn't possibly act like one. I look around for Isabelle and Alec, the only two familiar faces since leaving home (other than the bus driver, but he's long gone), without luck. Hefting my bag over my shoulder and dragging my suitcase while still searching, I collide into someone's chest. I immediately take a step back and mutter an apology, but a laugh cuts me short. I look up and feel myself become just as red as my hair and perhaps a couple shades darker.

A student's gazing down at me, but instead of a student, he seems more like a lion. Every inch of him is golden - gold hair, gold skin, tawny eyes. His eyes are heavy lidded, eyelashes forming a curtain over his golden irises. High cheekbones, strong jaw, full mouth. I have a sudden, almost painful, urge to grab my pencils and draw him because God no, I have never seen anyone quite so beautiful before. I know not to stare, though, because there's always a voice in my head that chirps, _"Clare-bear, remember_ Beautiful Disaster _? Remember_ On Dublin Street _? Nuh-uh, little girl, you're staying away from the bad boys._

So instead of drooling, I say, "Sorry, I didn't see y-"

"That's alright," he says breezily. And then his face morphed into something along the lines of concern. "You seem lost. The first years are gathering over there with that fat guy." He points with his thumb towards who I think is Sergeant Blackthorn, and boy does he have good ears because he shoots the boy an annoyed but whatever-don't-waste-my-time-with-that-kid look. The boy doesn't seem to notice.

"Thanks," I say, "but I'm a second-year."

His eyes brighten and he allows an easy smile. _Ugh, why does he have to be handsome_ and _nice?!_ "Even better. You're with me."

I let out a breath of relief and follow him through the already sparse crowd, then squash myself into a spot. The boy doesn't line up with me, though, and I whisper, "Aren't you going to line up?"

He winks a golden-eyelashed wink and before my brain can process that fact, he faces the entire second-year division and says in a suddenly authoritative voice, "Who cut the laces of my boots while I was in the lavatory?"

The girls giggle and one calls out, "Who says _lavatory_ anymore, Sergeant Grandpa? What are you, seventy?"

My eyes widen at the cheek she uses, only then realizing that he's their trainer. Isn't she afraid of getting whipped?

"Let me rephrase, then. Who cut the laces of my boots while I was masturbating?"

The entire division chuckles, but I don't find anything funny. Is he being serious? His eyes sparkle, and I am aware of how young he looks and is for him to be a trainer. Remembering Sergeant Blackthorn, I wonder if there's at least twenty years between them.

The same girl pipes up again with, "What's us girls got to do with it? Ask Alec - he's the prankster!"

Before anyone can reply, the sergeant holds up a hand and grins, one side of his mouth turning upwards. "Hold it. I know we're all excited to be back doing laps-"

Everyone groans at that.

"-so I'm having you around the track with ten before dinner." His smile turns mischievous.

"We just got here! Can't we do five?" Alec's voice finds its way into my ear. _As if you should worry_ , I think, remembering how both Isabelle and Alec looked athletic. _I can't even run 400 meters without becoming winded._

"I'll run with you, how about?" It's silent, but no doubt everyone was looking at his broad shoulders, the curve of his biceps visible even through his thick military uniform, and long legs. He takes it as agreement and begins jogging towards the painted track, taking off his uniform top to reveal a plain white t-shirt and shouting over his shoulder, "We'll miss dinner if you guys don't run fast enough!"

That gets everyone on their toes and I pick up my feet from the dirt, entering into a slow run. Almost immediately, I don't feel comfortable. Running is a million miles from my element, and with my short, stumbling legs I quickly fall to the back of the pack. I tell myself to breathe in an out in even breaths as I pump my legs, but I can't hold back my heavy pants. My posture must look ridiculous to the sergeant, who's easily running backwards to keep an eye on the group. I let my gaze stretch to beyond the field and to the squat building, watching enviously as first-years file into lines for dinner, most probably. The burn in my legs increase.

Suddenly, someone bumps my shoulder. The sergeant has, again, a concerned look on his face. In an impossibly even voice, he says, "You okay? I don't want you getting heat stroke or something."

I know he's being polite on my behalf, especially because it's cloudy and cool despite being late spring and a heat stroke is far from what I'll be getting. I manage to nod, and then nearly trip on my feet. He grabs me and prevents me from falling, and I gasp out, "Thanks."

He smirks and looks ahead. "No problem."

We run two laps in silence, and just when I think I'm about to fall, he says, "I have a feeling you're new here. I'm Jace. I take it you're Clary?"

My muddled brain nearly thinks he's called me Jace, and then understands that _he's_ Jace. I want to answer 'yes' but I think I'm going to throw up if I open my mouth, so I stay silent. I can feel Jace's eyes on me, probably judging how pathetic I am. A few moments after he looks away, I look at him. Unfortunately, he's tall enough so that my eyes land on his body more than his face, which is a much worse alternative to getting mesmerized by his looks. I quickly avert my gaze before pictures start surfacing in my mind, and force myself to focus on taking each step without messing up.

 _One, two. One, two. One, two._

And just like that, I survive the ten laps. It's completely and absolutely worth it when Jace, finally a little breathless, says, "Nice. I almost thought you'd faint back there." It may not sound like a compliment, but at that point I couldn't care less. I nod my thanks and crawl to my feet, my legs feeling like jelly and my arms sore. How my arms could ever get sore by _running_ , I'd never know.

When Jace shows us to our rooms and the showers, my mouth drops. The room, while small and shared between four people (that we would be allowed to choose, which, according to many of the girls, is a privilege that only Jace allowed), is comfortable and private. The _showers_ , on the other hand, have no stalls. I know I don't deserve to complain, especially because Sebastian once told me that while he was training for the war the showers were filled with grime and it smelled like sweat even though it was a place to _not_ smell like sweat. But never have I been completely exposed to anyone else (except for my mom, but that was when I was a baby), and even being naked in front of all girls would be incredibly awkward.

I pull out my towel and uniform and follow everyone to the showers, teeth chattering from the nervousness. Two doors sit right next to one another, and though they aren't labeled, people start flowing in, one line-up for males and the other for females. I soon learn that there aren't enough showers for all of us to go at once, so I offer to wait outside with a couple of other girls for our turns. Soon, several people come out and all the girls but me go in when I insist that they can wash up before me. They give me a strange look but don't say anything. Thank goodness.

I turn away, studying the halls. On the walls hang countless pictures of soldiers saluting - old, recent, black and white, colored. I trace my fingers along the plaques below, and tears strangely well up behind my eyes as I notice that they all have both a birth date and a death date. Seba-

"Hey, you can go in now," a girl says from behind. I nod absently and hear the footsteps patter down the hall. Remembering dinner, I turn and open the door closest to me.

I keep my head ducked as I walk quickly into the room, feeling the water splash at around my ankles. Suddenly, everything goes silent. No water pressure sounds, no bare feet slapping against the tiled floors, no shampoo bottles clicking open. I look up, confused, and that's when I shriek and slip in the water, landing painfully on my butt.

Short hair, Adam's apple, and-

 _Oh Lord of the Heavens._

I bury my face in my hands, trying to get the image out of my head, as Jace says, "Clary?"

* * *

 **I'm laughing so hard.**

 **Anyway, long chapter because I didn't want to split it in two.**

 **If you enjoyed Clary seeing Jace's d*ck this early in the story, review! 3**

 **-RtMiP**


	4. Carrots Have Green Leaves

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

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"Clary?"

I refuse to uncurl. Absolutely refuse.

"Clary, we're all decent. You can look now."

Never in a million years. It's not about the decency - it's the humiliation that's killing me. What's worse is that Jace is being incredibly gentle and because of that I'm about to melt into a puddle of Clary-goo despite the cold water all around. It doesn't help that all around are the snorting laughs of the boys.

"Do you want us to all go out and send one of the girls in here?" he offers, and I nod.

The laughter suddenly dies down and padding feet circle around me on the way out. Once I hear the door swing shut, I let myself breathe again, the heady sent of soap filling my mind. A few minutes later, the door opens again and I brace myself, but it's only Isabelle. Her wet hair hangs in a ponytail and there's not an ounce of makeup on her face, but she still manages to look like a supermodel. The envy twinges.

"Please don't tell me you did what I think you did," she whispers, and comes to wrap a dry, fluffy towel around my shoulders. Only then do I realize I'm sopping.

"What do you think I did?" I ask, letting her help me up. I hold the towel together in a vise-like grip.

"Pretended to mistake which door for which just to get a peek at the boys?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and nudged my in the ribs. "Who were you going for?"

I sigh, walking out into the corridor. "Not everyone's a pervert, you know. I wasn't pretending."

"How could you not know-" She stops herself. "You have Alzheimers or something?"

"Isabelle," I almost chide and enter the _right_ bathroom this time, "no one this young gets Alzheimers, even early-onset. What I have is beginner's luck."

"So you're..." She stops herself again. "So you're new? Like, not first-year new but actual new? And you're in the second-year? How'd you manage to skip the first?"

"I..." This time I'm the one who falters. I decide to tell her the same thing I told Alec on the bus so there wouldn't be any 'who said what' kind of situation. "Family."

"Okay...?" Isabelle doesn't pry, but doesn't seem to have left it at that either.

* * *

"Hey. Mind if I sit?" Jace gestures with his tray at the empty spot beside me.

"Um, I..." I push pictures out of my head. Isabelle's eyes widen from across the table and she nods her head in an urgent yes. "I guess so."

He slides onto the bench and looks at the food in my tray, his golden brows furrowing. "Nothing left in the kitchen? Why only the salad, Clary?"

I continue to ignore Isabelle and shrug. "Vegetarian."

He lifts an eyebrow and almost reprimandingly says, "Vegetarian's fine, but not in camp. You'll die from the lack of protein, and we don't serve tofu or beans anymore after last year's farting incident." His eyes travel to look at Isabelle, and she flushes and giggles, obviously remembering something that I don't know. It's something I despise, being left in the dark. I nibble at the edge of a lettuce stem.

Jace offers some of his, which is loaded with meat and carbs, but I shake my head. He doesn't offer again, though I don't miss that I-warned-you-so-don't-blame-me smirk on his face that makes me rethink my options. But by the time I come to the conclusion that I'll be able to tough it out, he's done eating. Does he eat fast.

The moment he leaves the table to return his tray, though, someone knees me in the back, nearly making me stab my fork into my tongue. That someone mutters in a voice so low I can't tell if it's female or male, "Whore."

Isabelle glares daggers at the person behind me, but all I get is another kick. I wince and pretend not to notice, but my spine is throbbing. This time, I can tell that's it's a girl. "Playing damsel never works, you know."

The malice behind her voice strangely doesn't frighten me, but I know not to cause a scene in a place that has already made me a hot topic. All the years eat in the same cafeteria, and making a fool out of myself in front of half of one division is enough attention I need for the entire summer with plenty to spare. Cautiously, I schooch myself over several inches, but all that it does is infuriate her and she hisses, "Don't you know it's good manners to look at the person you're talking to?"

I clench my fists and stand up so suddenly the entire bench screeches across the floor. I turn around and without letting any factor stop me, I say as politely as I can, "I'm sorry, but speaking and being spoken to are two different things."

The girl is easily quarter of a foot taller than me, and her eyes are upturned to make her look like a feline housecat that's used to being pruned. With slick black hair, light olive skin, and perfectly-tweezed eyebrows, she looks a thousand fold more agressive than Isabelle, although both are goddess-like pretty. Yet her kind of beautiful doesn't intimidate me and has me jealous of nothing as I stare up at her. The only thing I want is a growth spurt, no matter how unlikely at the age of seventeen. She almost snarls and leans in close, brushing my damp hair. "Don't do anything you'll regret." The she stalks away, swaying her hips like she's on a personally-tailored red carpet.

I sit back down and feel Isabelle's eyes on me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." There's a pause before she says, "It's just your face."

"What about my face?" My hand instinctively goes to my chin, wondering if there's dressing.

"It's..." Isabelle is unable to hold back a smirk. "Beet red. You look like a carrot, with your hair and all."

I'm about to point out that carrots have green leaves, but decide against it and roll my eyes, stabbing my plastic fork into the salad.

After dinner, there's time for introductions, and I watch as each of the sergeants walk up to a makeshift stage at the end of the cafeteria hall to introduce themselves. Sergeant Tiberius Blackthorn, first years. Sergeant Maryse Lightwood, third years. Sergeant Bat Velasquez, fourth years. Sergeant Lucian Graymark, fifth years. Sergeant Hodge Starkweather, sixth years. And then there's Jace. Sergeant Jace Herondale.

I freeze.

Jace... _Herondale_? Why does that name sound so familiar?

Herondale... Jonathan Herondale? My brother knows - _knew_ \- someone named Jonathan Herondale. I wait for the familiar pinch in my chest to come like how it does whenever I think about Sebastian, but it doesn't. Maybe it's finally getting better. But didn't Seb say that Jonathan was his best friend? His unit partner? I shake my head, mind racing with possibilies. Maybe... Jace was a nickname. Yes, that was it, it _had_ to be, which meant Jace knows how my brother died. He was one of the ones who persuaded my brother to join the army, to run towards his death.

* * *

"What's wrong? What happened?" I drag my suitcase through the front door and let my bag fall off my shoulder to the ground. Jocelyn is sitting at the top of stairs, face buried in her hands. Someone's in the kitchen, and just when I'm about to freak, Valentine, who never makes it home, comes into the foyer and hands me a letter. His voice is neutral, so I take that as a good sign. "See for yourself."

The seal has aready been torn, which means that this letter doesn't only address me, but the entire family. I reopen the envelope and pull out two sheets of paper - one covered with words and the other that has only a couple. I decide to read the long one first and unfold the letter. Halfway through, I stop reading and put the envelope down. My hands are shaking. "Dad, what's going on?"

"I have been asked to inform you that your son has been reported dead in Florida, United States of America on August 26, 1991. The exact time, unfortunately, is not known. His body was not found. On the behalf of the Secretary of Defense, I extend to you and your family my deepest sympathy in your great loss." My head swirves to Joeclyn, who's suddenly looking up with a crazed expression on her face that frightens me.

It takes a moment to process. _My son... Wait, no, Mom's son... Sebastian... Loss? Oh._

Oh.

 _Oh_.

The tears come down before I even feel the pain.

That's when Mom starts screaming, stumbling downt the stairs and running at Valentine, hands curling around his collar. He doesn't even seem to notice her. "He's dead! He's _dead_! Are you happy now? Are you happy that my son is finally dead? _ARE YOU_?"

I can only stand at the door with blurry eyes and Jocelyn continues the tantrum. "Mom?"

"You said he'll come back safely, you _promised_! Look what you did! Look what happened! Look! Look!" She wails and cries, falling to the ground with her hands sliding down his clothes. I almost find it funny, how she's dressed in flowery pants and a large blouse with a thick knitted shawl around her shoulders while Valentine is all business with his military three-star uniform still on. Then, completely breaking down, she whispers, "You promised."

"I only promise what is within my power, Jocelyn," he states, smoothing out his unwrinkled uniform, "and what happens in the war is not within my power."

 _That's right_ , I think, suddenly filled with loathing, remembering how he _never_ comes home, leaving a somewhat disabled wife and an exhausted child at what he doesn't even consider home anymore. War is his home, and sometimes I wonder if he likes it. But he's right about one thing.

 _War is not within even his power._

* * *

 **Isabelle, Alec, and Jace are not half-siblings in this story.**

 **The last scene was a flashback.**

 **Things are going to get interesting in the next chapter! Review if you enjoyed. :)**

 **-RtMiP**


	5. Five Minutes Ten

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot and all your wonderful, wonderful reviews! :)

* * *

A loud drill sound wakes me from my sleep.

I start, and glance at the clock. 4:00 AM precisely. I groan, flipping over on my bed and fall to the hard wooden floorboards and yelp. Someone stirrs in the room, and before I know it, they're on their feet and doing something with their blankets. Making them? When I ask them what's going on (which seems like the only thing I've said today), I wince at my croak. "What's that sound?"

Isabelle, Kaelie, and Maia don't say anything and continue to pack, stuffing what seems like all their possessions into a large, camouflage hiking bag. I take the cue to get up from the floor and try to copy what they're doing, but they're so fast I can hardly keep up. _What's going on? What are they doing? Am I supposed to do the same?_

Then they're out the door, leaving me alone in the room. I quickly stuff everything I can reach into my bag and struggle with the straps as I put it on, but at last I too exit into the hallway. The bag is incredibly heavy with God knows what, but I run after the other three girls outside. When I squint into the darkness, I can make out a mass of bodies running in front of me, all with the same loaded bags. There must be more than one division in this, so I jog to catch up with them, legs still sore from the run earlier today. Halfway there, though, I lose my balance battle with my bag and tip over onto my rump embarrasingly. I stay there for a moment, dazed, before I see Isabelle reach a hand out to me and pull me up. I stumble again before I regain my footing, and I think Isabelle says to me over the treading feet, "Hurry up, Clary. Jace is going to kill us."

I can't imagine him angry, but I heed her words and force my legs to move faster. When we join the circle of runners, I follow Isabelle around the entire perimeter of the training camp. People are aready starting to gather on the track, lining up military-style. More and more people leave the perimeter until it's just the two of us running side by side. I can tell that Isabelle's holding back, with her freakishly long legs and all, but I know not to look the gift horse in the mouth. Gasping, I complete the second lap and take my spot in line. For some reason, Isabelle feels the need to squeeze my hand before returning to her own spot.

"Two minutes forty seconds!" someone yells from another division. Female, so it must be Maryse.

"Two minutes thirty!" Bat shouts, earning several whoops from the fourth-years.

"Two minutes oh-five!" someone else yells boastfully, and the division behind Luke cheers.

"A minute and fifty five!" Hodge says, and the defeaning roar of the sixth-years hurts my ears.

The trainers look to Jace, and I notice something in their eyes - disdain. I know the expression well because I get it every time I win an art tournament. What follows the look is always, "How much did you pay the judges?" I bite my lip, shoving the unwanted memories out of my head.

I see Jace, in uniform, looking at what seems like a stopwatch. "Five minutes ten."

Everything's silent, and I squeeze my eyes shut, guilt washing over me. Why couldn't I have been faster? Why couldn't I have made sure there wouldn't be anything happening at night with my roommates? Why am I so goddamn _stupid_? I open my eyes and see the attendance woman again, speaking to Jace. I entered line last, meaning that I'm closest to Jace and the woman. A few words leak through, but not enough for me to piece anything together. Something about losing, something about easy... Then the second years groan and stamp their feet, much to the joy of the other divisions. Some mutter, "Dishes? Where do we even go? The kitchen?"

I take it that we've never lost before.

And it's all my fault.

The other years stand up and walk back to the dorms, laughing and high-fiving each other. I don't want to look as the woman leaves Jace and he turns to us.

It's silent for a moment.

Another moment.

I pinch myself to make sure I'm not deaf.

"What was that?" It's so loud and furious that I jump, even when I'm sitting down. "Clary, stand up."

I quickly get onto my feet, my cheeks burning.

Everyone's looking down at their boots, and I realize I'm the only one still in my pajamas. They're pink, and for a moment I almost want to rip it into pieces. Then I calm myself down and take a deep breath. Jace has his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed into an expression that I can't really decipher. I just know it's far from good. He repeats, his voice softer this time, "I'm asking you what that was."

His quiet voice makes it that much more sinister and frightening. The previous friendly demeanor is now all gone, and I gulp in trepidation.

"Clary! It's Clary!" someone from the back calls out, and I clench the hem of my PJ top. Tears threaten to spill over my eyes and I blink a few times to get rid of them.

More voices follow. "Yeah, the redhead was the last one here - Isabelle was just running with her out of pity."

"Everyone was finished by the time she was out of the building."

"Make her do the punishments alone. It's not our fault."

I bite the inside of my lip to keep myself from crying, but all the pain does is create more tears.

"Did you see her? She tripped like, ten t-"

"Y'all done with your accusations?" Jace asks, still using his poker face.

It goes silent once more.

"Someone tell me why we have this exercise," he says, scanning the crowd. When no one pipes up, he raises his voice, "What happened? You weren't afraid to speak when you got here. _What happened_?"

"To test our reaction time to emergencies!" someone says.

"That's part of it, but not the answer I was looking for," Jace replies coldly.

It sinks back into silence before another person says, "To race against time and others towards a goal."

"Far from it."

"To keep your head in dangerous situations."

"Not even close."

"To improve on our errors and shortcomings."

I wince at the indirect implication that I'm the error and shortcoming.

"To make sure everyone gets out safely and quickly and that no one gets left behind!" Jace shouts and I can feel the entire division jump from the noise. "To not be the selfish brats you are now and go back for others who need your help when you yourself are safe! To accept everyone for who they are and to encourage them instead of put them down! To actually help your teammates catch up when they've missed out on something like Clary has!"

I hang my head as tears began flowing down my cheeks and chin and onto the cool grass below. I'm in my slippers, and the dew has soaked into through my socks already. I shiver slightly.

Jace sighs and shakes his head, his shoulders rising and falling in disappointment. Then he walks back to wherever he stays and calls out, "The crack of dawn on the track! Tardiness will earn you ten more laps!"

After he disappears into the darkness, everyone begins dispersing. Isabelle immediately walks over to me, but Maia and Kaelie ignore us. I wipe away tears before Isabelle can see them, and together we head back to the off-white buildings.

* * *

 **I love Jace in this chapter, though I have a feeling many of you wouldn't. :( That's okay though.**

 **The only reason why I'm updating everyday (or more than once everday) is because I'm sick and staying home from school. Yay! I'm not crazy, I swear. It's just school's REALLY boring and yeah... I don't want to diss my teachers so... When I have school again I'll try to keep the same schedule because it's almost summer and there's practically nothing left, but I'm not making an promises.**

 **Another thing: any betareaders out there? I'm on hiatus for betaing at the moment because I'm working on my own novels (original, not fanfics), but if anyone would be willing to beta for me, I'd really appreciate it. I detest grammar errors in not just my work but in daily life so I want to give readers a minimum of correct sentence structure.**

 **And that brings me to the topic of my recent reviews! AHHHHH I love them all, especially the three guest reviewers. Although the number of reviews is few, they'll make my day for many days to come! 333**

 **If you enjoyed seeing this side of Jace (I'm biased towards him 'cause he's my fav character in the books, ahaha), review!**

 **-RtMiP**


	6. Beetred and Bloodred

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

* * *

I clutch my hand to my chest, blinking spots out of my eyes. For the past hour and a half, we've been practicing hand-to-hand combat in the middle of the track with the sun beating down on us, and Kaelie isn't going any easier. Last night when we'd chosen our roommates, Maia and Kaelie had requested Isabelle and Isabelle had requested me. Although the other two didn't protest, they hadn't looked happy about it, either. Now, after the running incident, _everyone_ isn't happy with me.

"Stop being a pussy about it already. It's just your hand." Kaelie smirks. "Wait 'till I punch a tooth out and get a black eye out of you."

I can hardly hear anything through the pain, and that's when Jace comes over and takes my hand. His skin is rough and looks as if it had been burned before, but it's warm and slender. He drops my hand and reminds me, "Make a fist whenever you punch, Clary, or you'll get all your fingers broken by the end of the day."

Everyone's stopped what they're doing to look at the loser get scolded by the teacher. I nod quickly and am just about to try a new punch at Kaelie when she smacks me on the nose with her palm. She smirks and says, "Yeah, but only for you. I don't need a fist to make you cry for mommy."

I don't let it get to my head and draw back my arm for another go, but this time she just swipes my feet out from under me and pushes her knee into my stomach. I can't breathe - the air's gone out of me in a single whoosh. She grins maliciously and taunts, "What's wrong, sweetie? Ran so much last night that your face is red even now?"

I wait for Jace to come tell her that it's enough, but he doesn't. Then I curse myself. Why am I waiting for him to save me like I'm the helpless damsel the cafeteria girl said I was? Why do I always need him to stand up for me? Where did my own voice go? Remembering the demonstration Jace gave us this morning, I bring my knee up and smack Kaelie upside the head, resulting in a satisfying clunk. I scramble to my feet as quickly as I can and before she can recover from the hit, I punch her squarely in the face, aiming for her nose like she did for me but instead land my fist on her mouth. My hand retracts, my knuckles throbbing, but I realize that it doesn't hurt half as much as with an open hand. Kaelie shrieks and falls to the ground, holding her gushing mouth. She coughs, and something white and shiny falls from her hand.

A tooth.

 _Take that, bitch_.

I'm so preoccupied with winning that I forget my no-swearing policy to myself. Unable to hold back, I hiss, "At least I can keep the redness in me, unlike _someone_."

Blood's everywhere.

I grin.

Someone shoves me aside and helps Kaelie up, and I'm for some reason disappointed when I see it's Jace. He gives me a funny look, like he didn't believe I had the guts to do it. I suddenly want to take back the punch.

 _What the actual hell, Clary? That punch is the only thing you've done in your life that actually has some value. Don't you dare go around saying sorry,_ Inner Clary almost screams, and I flinch.

When Jace and Kaelie walk away, everyone turns cold eyes on me. I take a step back instinctively, feeling my eyes widen.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry, I d-didn't mea-mean t-to," I stutter frantically. But I did.

"Save it," a boy named Simon says, glaring at me. Funnily, I remember him from the set of Isabelle's rules as the one who likes cranberry juice.

I tell myself to let this entire thing slide. Camp would be over in just a couple months, and then it would be school again. _School._ Never has school sounded this good.

As the others go back to fighting, I sit at the edge of the track with legs crossed, waiting for Kaelie or Jace to come back.

I wish they don't.

* * *

 **Ya ya, I know it's a ridiculously short chapter, but it's because I wanted this scene to be alone and also because next chapter we'll have Jace's POV and I didn't want to put the two POVs together.**

 **Kaelie's a bitch.**

 **Clary's impulsive and a scaredy-cat (so far).**

 **Jace's a weirdo. A very hot weirdo. Whom I have no idea what to do with.**

 **Simon's a son of a bitch.**

 **And I'm going to go cry in a corner because I feel like I've ruined all the characters. Ah well, if you like them this way, review. If you don't like them this way, feel free to bash them but not me. Okay fine, you can bash me a little bit because I feel like I need some bashing to improve them. So review anyway. :)**

 **-RtMiP**


	7. Expensive Shoes and No Makeup

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but the plot and the delightful reviews that make me want to update faster! 3

* * *

 **Jace** (*squeals* I might not do him well though...:( Forgive me.)

Kaelie is clinging onto my sleeve like some fucking poodle.

Strangely, I let her do it. It's better than seeing her get into a sissy-fight with the redhead. I drop the girl off at the entrance of the female washroom and let her clean the blood off her face, leaning against the wall and staring into nothing. On the mention of the redhead, Clary, I almost flinch. Her brother, Sebastian...

 _"Scared?"_

 _Sebastian narrows his eyes. "Why should I be?"_

 _"Dunno. Leaving your sister, your parents? If I had any, I'd hesitate too." I watch as he kicks dirt from the ground with the front of his shoe angrily. "Don't take it out on the ground, Seb, it doesn't deserve that treatment."_

 _"What do you care?" he asks in his usual irritated voice. For the last several months, he's been acting weird, as if he's finally realized that he's the whiny girl he is and started PMSing. I wouldn't be surprised if he brought tampons with him._

 _"I care because you're getting dirt on my shoes, asshole, and they're expensive." I glare at him, but he doesn't seem to notice. That, or he deliberately ignores me._

 _"Then take your fucking shoes and go somewhere else," he almost snarls, and I raise an eyebrow. Sheesh, what's with the 'tude?"_

 _I cross my arms and say, "Are you joining or not?"_

 _"Do I look like I have a choice?" His voice is louder, and some of the highschoolers look in our direction. "Dad is..."_

 _My head shoots up, glad I'm finally hearing something new. "What about your dad? Isn't he the general or something?"_

 _"Only a Lieutenant General," Sebastian replies dismissively, and my roll my eyes at the 'only.'_

 _"What's he got to do with you joining the army? He pressuring you or something?" I start kicking at the dirt too, just for revenge._

 _"Nothing," he says in a tone that I use when I don't want to talk about something. That just makes me more curious. "C'mon Seb, it's not as if I have anyone to spill anything to."_

 _"Penhallow?" he asks skeptically._

 _I smirk. "Okay, you got me there. But she's out of the country and I'd probably forget this by tomorrow morning, like I do with all the rest of your-"_

 _"-shit, I know." Sebastian stops attacking the dirt and stuffs his hands into his pockets, squinting his eyes against the sunlight. "Hey, Jace?"_

 _"I've been right here all this time, Seb," I say crookedly, but I find myself leaning in to hear what he has to ask of me._

 _"Can you do me a favor?" His words are reluctant, which makes me smile._

 _"Only if you tell me what's going on with your dad," I say, and knock shoulders with him. "What is it?"_

 _"I need you to pretend that you were the one who got me into the military."_

 _I blink, and then become flabbergasted. "Why the hell would I have to do that? So if you get killed, it's all on me?"_

 _He glares at me, and then his eyes soften. "No, I mean... Kind of, I guess. It's complicated."_

 _"I kind of came to that conclusion already," I say, annoyed. Seb's the one who wants_ me _to join the army with him, not the other way around. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't give a fuck about what happens to the 'oh so many people dying out there on the battlefield' shit._

 _He sighs resignedly. "If you it, I'll tell you about my dad."_

 _It hardly seems like a fair trade, but I shrug my shoulders anyway. "Whatever, man. Just don't die."_

 _His signature smirk finally returns. "I'll try."_

"Jace?"

I start, but don't show it. Clary's walked up to me, but keeps her distance. Her hands are clasped tightly and her gaze is darting this way and that, though I pretend not to notice. I tell myself to be nice. "What's up?"

"Um, well... I need to talk to you about something," she says and wipes her hands on her uniform. She looks kind of cute in it - not the pretty cute but the adorable cute, like the-size-is-too-large-and-she's-about-to-get-swallowed-up-by-the-fabric cute.

"Shoot."

I think she takes the word in it's negative meaning rather than it's 'go ahead and start talking' meaning by the expression on her face. Then realization dawns on her and she quickly says, "Do you by chance know my brother, S-"

Panic suddenly grips me, but just then, the bathroom door swings open and a more presentable Kaelie steps out, holding a cold cloth to her face. Her eyes brighten when she sees me, and then darken when they land on Clary. Her mouth curls into a sneer. " _You_. You motherf-"

"No makeup in camp, Kaelie. You should know that by now," I quickly interrupt, shooing her back into the washroom. A look of hurt crosses her face as she goes to wash off her face again. Where she got the makeup, I'll never know. If she's been carrying lipstick with her on person and someone else other than me finds out, she's going to get her ass whipped. Literally.

"You were saying?" I ask, pretending to have forgotten Clary's words.

"Oh, right. Uh, do you know someone called Sebastian?" she asks nervously.

I tilt my head, wondering how to reply. How does she know I know Sebastian? We've never met, and I know Seb doesn't often talk about his social life with his family. Or maybe Clary only sees that I'm young and assumes that I'll know Sebastian, who would be the same age as me. I don't let myself pause to long and answer her with, "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

"Well, um, he's my brother and he..." She fidgets with the bottom of her uniform top.

"Died at war?" I ask, then shut my mouth. Why did I just say that?

Her eyes widen. "Right! Um, I mean, yes. Last year in Florida, but when I went to look for him in the cemetery where all the soldiers who die at war get buried, I couldn't even find his ashes. Is that... Is that normal?"

Fuck. This is not good. _So_ not good. "I don't know, Clary. Maybe you missed it."

"Maybe..." But she doesn't look convinced. "But isn't his name supposed to appear on the list, at least? Even my mom couldn't find it."

My heart is pounding. I can't have her know - it's the least I could do for Sebastian. "Everyone here in this camp revolves around training and probably won't know how to answer, so wait until after the break and ask your dad. General Morgenstern, yeah?"

My attempt at refocusing the attention to her works, and Clary flushes. "R-right. I... Right. Right."

I can't help but smirk. Clary starts walking backwards down the hall, but nearly trips. _Jesus, this girl._ "Thanks for sticking up for me last night. It was my fault, though."

I'm surprised. Valentine's daughter hasn't grown up to be like him. "You're welcome."

"And thanks for not laughing when I, you know... barged in while you were, you know..." She gestures with her hands in the air as if that's going to make me understand, but I chuckle and nod. Her face is flaming and she's not looking at me directly. Then she flushes even harder and mumbles, "I'm going to go now."

She does.

Kaelie opens the door and comes out. "I'm done."

"Do you have your tooth?"

"W-what?" she stutters, alarmed, her eyes large and suddenly apprehensive. "I... flushed it."

I heave a sigh and shake my head. "You've just lost your tooth forever, Kaelie. The doctors can drill it back into your gums, but without the actual tooth, you can only get one made of gold or the likes and this place won't do it."

She pales and her bottom lip trembles as she begins walking back to her room in a daze. I'm smiling, but not from her.

From Clary.

* * *

 **Jace swears a lot. I do not swear a lot. Therefore the swear words may seem awkwardly placed.**

 **Jace was arrogant Jace before the war. Now he is OOC. Mature Jace, if you will.**

 **Thank you reviewers for making my sick day enjoyable! *sniffle**

 **If you enjoyed this chapter in Jace's POV, review! :)**


	8. Boo!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

* * *

I don't believe it.

I _can't_ believe it.

Jace knows something, I _know_ he knows.

So why did he persistently move the topic away? The more I think about it, the more suspicious I become. I turn around, but Jace and Kaelie are already on their way to her room, no doubt to mourn over her molar. I can't help but grin. _Again_. I'm becoming sadistic.

The sound of footsteps becomes louder and I see Isabelle round the corner of the dorm building, her face a painting of relief. She slows down and grabs my arm. "Thank goodness you're alright. I almost thought Kaelie would get the better of you."

For some reason, a pang of hurt hits me. _Why does Isabelle think Kaelie can beat me so easily? I was the one who punched_ her _in the face, not the other way around._ But I don't say anything and pretend that I didn't hear her. I know she means it as concern and nothing else. Maybe Kaelie _can_ best me, and I'm certainly not known as athletic. Painting a canvas does not require the usage of anything but relaxing music and a steady hand, not pumping legs and running shoes. "Is training over?"

" _Over?_ " Isabelle laughs, and pulls me along faster. "Oh, Clary, you haven't seen anything yet."

* * *

I swear my shoulder blade is about to crack. Jace has reminded me patiently to keep the butt of the gun against my shoulder at least a dozen times so that when it fires I won't get hurt, but I'm probably _already_ hurt. The lower half of my body is completely numb from lying belly-down for such a long time, and my elbows are throbbing from trying to keep still. My fingers tremble. _I can't fire. I can't fire. I can't fire._

Off to my right, the others in my division are quickly firing rounds, but I haven't dared to pull the trigger even once yet. I can't. The mere sound of the gun is enough to make my entire body twitch, so right now it's jerking like a fish on land. Even when I know no one but Jace is watching, my face flares red. _Because_ Jace is watching, my face flares red. He walks over my legs and puts a large hand on my non-gun shoulder and in a soft voice, says, "Clary? You alright?"

"Huh?" I clear my throat. "Um, yeah. I just... Can you show me how to do it again?"

 _Anything but actually do it myself._

I can tell he knows what I'm getting at but he still drops down and takes the gun from me, shouldering it in an impossibly sexy way and aiming. He fires in slow motion, purposely leaning in to look through the scope so I can copy his movements. I try to focus, but I can't seem to get the scenes of Sebastian getting shot over and over out of my head, though they hardly make sense.

 _A bullet to the heart. A jerk of the body, blood blooming over his chest, and then dead._

 _A bullet to the head. Instant death, brains leaking out._

 _A bullet to the stomach. Slow and painful, trying to keep his intestines in._

 _A bullet to the leg, running, running, falling, getting up, falling again._

"Clary?"

I zone back into reality and surpress a shudder. Jace is looking at me expectantly, and I quickly get onto my stomach again and push the gun into my shoulder, leaning into the scope to see where and when to shoot. Unfortunately, the weird lines only make me disoriented, so I close my eyes and pray that it at least hits the target. _Breathe in._

I can't seem to breathe out. The pressure begins to hurt and I tell myself to pull my finger back. _Press it, Clary. Press it._

I can't. I can't. I can't.

A hundred meters out, the target stands mockingly tall. Tall, like Sebastian. And just like that, the square piece of cardboard morphs into my brother himself, and his eyes are blank and there's blood everywhere. I can't shoot. Not my brother, no. The pain in my chest becomes unbearable, but my finger still remains frozen, as if there's a magnet in my nail and there's a magnet on the trigger, both north. No matter how hard I try, I can't make them touch.

"Boo."

I scream and involuntarily, my finger snaps back and the butt of the gun digs into my shoulder. The sound makes my ears ring for a few moments, but I'm crying. Really crying, with tears flowing down my cheeks from both the shock and the surprise. I hear a giggle, but barely. I can't move, I can't think, I can't breathe. The gun is rooted to the ground and so am I.

Someone pulls me up by the arms and sits me vertically against a wall and I wrap my arms around my knees, making myself as small as possible. My hair is being stroked gently and cloth dabs at my tear-stained face. I hear distant voices, laughing and clapping. My toes scrunch up.

After what seems like forever, I finally realize that I've stopped crying and I look up. It's getting dark outside, but it's silent. A silhouette of a person stands against the sunset, and I capture the beautiful picture - hands in pockets, bare head, hair sticking up every which way, angular face turned towards the horizon. It's so perfect I momentarily lose myself in the landscape painting and forget my troubles. Breathtaking.

And then he turns, and I quickly look down. Of course it's Jace. Who else could possibly look so incredibly even in a form of a shadow?

He comes up to me and takes a knee in front of me. "Better?"

I nod.

"Aline said sorry, by the way," he says absent-mindedly.

I look up. "Who's Aline?"

"Aline? She's a third year." He thinks for a moment. "The one who attacked you in the cafeteria yesterday?"

Oh. So he _did_ see me and that girl...Aline. _Yeah, as if she meant her apology_. "Right. I remember."

It's silent for a moment, but it's peaceful. The sunset is a reddish-orangey colour, mixed with pink highlights.

 _Like my hair_ , I realize, _without the pink_. _But it's the exact shade of red_.

I think Jace notices it too when he looks at the hair curtaining my face. Then he tilts his head and smiles. "I can help you catch up, if you'd like."

"Wh-what? Oh, no, that's okay. I just need to try a bit harder," I say. "There aren't really any consequences to failing this camp technically, right? Really, it's fine."

He smirks and crosses his legs, resting his chin on his closed hand. I want to draw his every pose. "Sure, but isn't failing a consequence itself? You might think you're fine with getting teased, but not everyone is fine with someone burdening the rest of them."

I know he doesn't mean to insult me, but it stings anyway. "I... I don't really know how to reply to that."

"You could start by saying yes," he says wickedly, and under his playful tone is seductiveness. I don't know how I can tell - I just do. Some part of me wonders how often he uses his looks to coax girls into doing what he wants. I shake myself out of it. Jace isn't someone who looks like he would do that.

"I don't know... I mean, wouldn't extra," I struggle to find the word, "tutoring make others, well..."

"Jealous?" Jace suggests, then rolls his eyes. "Clary, don't think so much. I'm offering something that even Isabelle won't, so accept it before I change my mind."

I was going to say, 'make others think that we're in a relationship,' but then blush profusely at how much I actually want it to be true. And then before I can stop myself, I slap my face, hard. _Clary, you will_ not _fall in love with someone just because of their looks. I thought you knew at least this much by now!_

Jace looks alarmed. "Do you have a fetish for voluntary suffering?"

"Not usually, no," I reply slyly, still grinning from the slap. "But... a little help won't hurt."

"Great," he says and gracefully jumps to his feet. "Set your alarm to three forty-five and meet me at the gym at four. Don't be late."

"Wait what?" I ask aloud to his back. Why does he always have to spring things like that on me? I try to follow him but my legs won't untangle. "Gym? I don't know where that is even!"

"Then ask Isabelle or Maia. I'd stay away from Kaelie though. Make sure there's nothing sharp in your room tonight before you go to sleep." And with that, he jogs into one of the residence buildings and disappears.

What did I just get myself into?

* * *

 **I'm not good at writing drama between girls.**

 **I'm not good at writing boy-girl relationships.**

 **I'm not good at writing plot triggers, but I guess this chapter counts as one...ish.**

 **I'm no good at writing fanfics, period.**

 **So if you have critisism, review! If you have God-knows-how-you-found-anything-good-to-say comments, review!**

 **This story isn't going to be like the other AH and AU TMI fanfics where there's a lot of girl vs. girl drama (although there _will_ be some). It revolves more around the actual going-ons about the war and stuff. The first, let's say, ten chapters, will be COMPLETELY about the camp with only snippets of drama-queen moments in between because a) I want to develop the setting through events rather than descriptions (I'm planning to leave a lot of settings to your own imagination and only describe the gory stuff :)) and b) I want to show how Clary is focused on surviving physically through camp before she even has to deal with Kaelie and Aline and all the other female suitors of Jace. ;)**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-RtMiP**


	9. Limping

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

 **Dedication:** To all the reviewers who said I'm doing the characters justice. Love y'all and your support! 3

* * *

The hallway is dark. It's three fifty. I nearly stayed up the entire night, waiting for another drill.

I listen to the soft padding of my feet as I make my way down the tunnel-like corridor. Last night, Isabelle told me that the gym's the fifth door on the right of the hallway in the main building where we eat our meals. I now remember that I forgot to ask her whether which 'right' she was referring to. There's a series of doors on either side and none of them have windows, so I'm hoping that both fifth doors, on my right and left, are safe to check.

Thankfully, the first door I open is the right one. The bright white lights are on and buzzing in the huge gym, which is packed with scary-looking excercise equipment. Metal arms stick out everywhere and there's a lot of black and silver - _only_ black and silver. Grotesque.

There's movement somewhere at the end of the room and I skip over machines to get there, calling out, "Jace? Are you there?"

"Clary?" Definitely Jace. It's breathy, and a moment later I see why. He's using a simple-looking contraption, pulling himself up until his chin reaches the bar that transverses through two handle things he holds onto. I can't tear my eyes away from the well-defined muscles in his shoulders and back flexing as he pulls himself up again, or the fact that he's shirtless. I'm just about to avert my eyes when he drops down and uses the towel around his neck to wipe the sweat off his face. Unfortunately, his chest and abs are still gleaming with perspiration, and I feel myself flush to the roots of my hair. I've probably gone red so many times these past couple of days that everyone already thinks I've been red since birth.

"I-I was just, uh..." I gulp, keeping my eyes trained on his face and his face only. The fact that seeing even Jace's lips turns me on isn't helping. "I just got here." I'm the breathless one now.

He grins and puts his arms on his narrow hips. "Well, now that you're here..." He suddenly has his mouth curled into a smile. "Girls like their butts not saggy, right?"

There's so much blood in my head that I can literally feel it pounding against my skull. "R-right. Sure."

"Here," he says and walks over to something a chair with disconnected armrests several inches in front facing a screen-like wall with gears and weights. I scrunch up my face but don't complain, seeing that it's at least something I can do sitting down. Jace pulls the armrests apart and gesture for me to sit on the chair. "You'll have to open your legs. Can you do the splits?"

I'm relieved, knowing that my flexibility is something that I have always been able to count on. Nothing like gymnasts, but the splits is natural for me and my petit form. I nod and sit like he tells me to and watch as he puts my feet onto steps on either side. The armrests act more like... I don't know, legrests? "Push inwards."

I do as he says, and although it feels strange, it's easier than I thought it would be. He goes to the screen thing and adjusts the weights, swapping them with another, larger set. This time when I push in, I feel the resistance and I bite my lip.

What fun.

* * *

"Are you alright, Clary? You're walking funny." Isabelle looks at my legs and I do too. Not really walking funny, but limping. It aches but doesn't feel too bad.

"Yeah, I guess all this training has really gotten to me," I say and smile to myself.

She gives me a funny look. "Okay then..."

"Settle down, guys," Jace says, and slowly we all huddle. The past few days, I've realized that no one takes Jace particularly seriously unless someone actually does something to upset him. Maybe it's because he's practically the same age as us, or because he seems a whole lot nicer I smile again, and then wipe it off my face. Being with him for an hour and a half isn't _so_ good that I can't stop smiling, right? "Before we get back with the targets, I want to remind you about the field trip tomorrow. Water, food, prohibited snacks that you shouldn't have brought with you to camp-"

People glance at each other, grinning.

"-and teddy bears. Gather on the track-" But by now the talking has gotten loud enough to obscure his words. He throws his hands up in an adorablely childish manner and says in an exasperated voice, "You know what, when do we _not_ gather on the track?"

We take it as a cue to grab our guns and put them in position on the ground. I remember to separate my legs a little bit to keep myself steady, and then look into the scope. _Come on, Clary. Don't wait for someone to scare you into firing._ I imagine that it would work, considering that yesterday's jump-scare really frightened me, but I experience the same shooting block as I did the first time - my finger just won't budge. Then, suddenly, I feel a shoulder cross over mine and a hand wrap around my fingers. My index is so tiny that there's room for two fingers at a time. I don't need to look to see who it is, and although I'm probably pink on the outside, I'm squealing like a little girl in the inside. Giggling, almost.

His warm breath tickles my ear. He's _that_ close. "Look in front of you, Clary."

I do and take a deep breath. His chin is on my shoulder and his face is practically in my hair and it's all I can do to not smile. Smile for _what_ , I don't want to know, but something about having a boy outside of family this intimate for some reason makes me feel giddy. "Relax your shoulders. I'm not going to bite you."

"Right." I loosen up and focus on the target.

"I'm going to press the trigger with you. Ready?" He smells good too - a heady, lemony scent that I inhale as I feel his finger tighten around mine.

And then it goes off.

I brace myself for the images of Sebastian, dying over and over, but they don't come. I completely relax this time, not even aware of the pain in my shoulder. Instead, it even feels...good. I hear Jace laugh softly in my ear and then he detaches himself from me. Immediately, I begin feeling the dread of shooting - my finger locks up again. What is wrong with me?

Just as I'm about to try firing again, someone taps me on the shoulder and I roll onto my back, nearly knocking the gun over. Isabelle.

"Um, Clary, can you come with me for a sec?" Her eyes seem dazed.

I look at Jace for permission, but he seems to purposely turn a blind eye. I smile. "Yeah, sure."

"Thank you," she says as if I'm her savior or something. I knit my eyebrows.

I get up and walk with her to a building that's off-white but isn't the one we stay in. She opens the door and step straight in. I, on the other hand, take a bit more precaution, wondering whether we're even allowed to go into someone else's dormitory. The door closes behind us with a loud thud.

We stop in front of the bathroom. This one's labelled. "How come this one tells you which one is which but ours doesn't?"

"It used to, but the paint washed off." Her answer isn't in the usual Isabelle-style.

After a moment, she turns to me and says, "Clary, I need you to go check."

"Check what?"

"I don't know. Just go into the boy's b-"

"Never! Not again."

"I _need_ you to do it, Clary. Please."

"Why me? Do it yourself." I know I'm only being this abrasive and defensive because of the previous incident.

"You made the mistake before-"

"Isabelle," I say, "last time was because I was unknowledgeable. This time, if I mess up the doors, they'll call me blind."

"I..." She trails off. "I know. But... Please? I promise I'll do anything for you if you help me."

"I don't know, Isabelle," I say, but I feel myself already beginning to give in. "What if there's someone in there? What do you want me to find?"

She pouts.

"Okay," I resign, "but what do you want me to look for?"

"Just tell me what you see." With that, she nudges me towards the door.

I hold my breath and open it. The row of urinals is unused and all the stall doors are unlocked. No one's there. "Isabelle, there's nothing here."

"Go in a bit farther," she prods.

"This isn't some sort of trick, is it?" I whisper to myself, but don't wait for the answer and close the door behind me.

That's when I hear something weird, between a gasp and a moan. I grimace before taking a couple more steps in, and look underneath the stall doors. At the end of the row, I see two sets of unisex military boots interlocked. Whoever's in there isn't...? I find myself relieved that it can't be Jace, and then scowl. Why does everything have to be about Jace?

I tip-toe towards the last stall and wonder if it's a good idea intruding on their privacy like this. I'm about to turn back when there's voices.

"Fuck. _Yes_ , fuck. Magnus." And then the person begins a very breathy chant of 'Magnus,' who I'm assuming is someone's name.

But that's all fine, until I realize who's voice the words belong to. It's male. Gods, oh Gods. Help me.

I rush out the washroom, not bothering to keep my steps quiet. The noises stop and the stall door bangs open. "Clary? Fucking hell. I know it's y-"

The bathroom door closes and Isabelle's eyes widen at the sight of me. Without another word, I grab her arm and pull her out the building. Only when we reach the track do we stop. I'm gasping, but not from the run. "He... Your brother..."

Isabelle's grip on me hurts. "What about him? What is it?"

I drop my voice to a whisper. "He was... was... _kissing_..."

"Who? Who was he kissing?" Her urgency scares me.

"Magnus, or whatever his name is," I say. "He-"

"What about Alec and Magnus?" comes a familiar voice. Both our heads whip to the right. Aline's there. Even though she's in the third year, she's always here with the second years whenever we practice with the guns.

Isabelle's face goes pale. And then fury washes over her face as she hisses loudly, "What did you hear?"

Aline smirks a smirk that I want to punch off her face. "Maybe I heard everything."

I realize what Aline's getting at the moment Isabelle says, "Don't you _dare_ go around telling anyone that my brother kissed another boy, you hear?"

I'd facepalm myself at Isabelle's stupidity if it weren't for the situation. Aline's face goes slack in shock, and then she tosses her dark hair back and laughs. "I think you just did."

She's right, I realize, as I look at our entire division, who has their attention riveted on us.

 _Oh, Isabelle._

* * *

 **Long chapter because I had so much fun writing it.**

 **Surprise surprise! Isabelle ruins Alec's life! She's kinda stupid in this story, but she offers good emotional support for Clary so...**

 ***squeals like a guinea pig* Imagine Jace and Clary on a field trip... Muahahaha!**

 **If you like the twist and smexy Jace, review!**

 **-RtMiP**


	10. Beheaded

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot and my pills. -_-

* * *

The bus ride to the hospital is quiet, even though Isabelle's right next to me.

I've tried comforting her already, but after the entire second division heard what she said, she ran off. I'd looked for her in the dorm, but she hadn't been there. Maia had been absent as well, but returned several hours after curfew with red puffy eyes so horrible that even Kaelie didn't say anything. When I woke up to go to the gym again, it was about four o'clock in the morning and Isabelle still wasn't in her bed. Now, looking at her dismal expression, I feel horrible. She's been nothing but nice to me and I'd gotten her into this horrible mess. Why couldn't I have told her later, somewhere private?

Jace told us we'll be going to a real behind-the-trenches hospital to help out and fill ammunition and the likes today, and though the thought of blood scares me, I'm actually looking forward to this trip. Several minutes later, the bus lurches to a stop and we file out and into another vehicle, or rather, _vehicles_. They're camouflaged and truck-like, with bay doors and rough wooden benches inside. I need help getting on because of my height and lack of long legs, but Isabelle almost needs to be carried on. Unfortunately, the third years start piling onto the truck as well, and Aline's with them. I push myself against the inner wall as far as possible and make sure that Isabelle's right next to me. She looks as if she could jump out of the truck while it's moving.

My fingers are crossed as the truck drags itself into motion that Aline will keep her nasty mouth shut, but there's only a moment of peace before she says, "What a great sister you are, Isabelle. Did Alec find out what you did yet?"

"Shut up," Isabelle says quietly.

"What was that?" Aline smirks. "Raise your voice so everyone can hear, just like yesterday."

"She said shut up," I say, glaring at her.

Aline ignores me. "You know, you should really ask people whether they want the entire world to know they're gay before deciding for them."

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Isabelle breaks down into tears. "I really didn't. I-I swear."

"Who cares if you did it on purpose or not? Everyone in our division is trampling your brother now." Aline tosses her head and bats her eyelashes. "You know, for a while, I actually liked Alec. Whoops, I guess that was silly of me, right? Considering he doesn't like girls..."

"Do you know when to stop?" I hiss, putting an arm around Isabelle's trembling form.

"Oh, Clary, no one needs your freckled nose butting into everyone else's business. Be thankful that you weren't the one who blurted it out." She smirks again.

At least she stops attacking. The rest of the third division, though, has eavesdropped without shame. I glare at them until they finally look away.

"Are you okay?" I ask Isabelle. Then I lower my voice and whisper, "How'd you know where to look?"

She slowly looks up and wipes away tears. _Later_ , she mouths. Her eyes are red-rimmed and bagged. I nod and look away, focusing on the bumps in the road.

I'm so intent on pushing everything out that the explosion that rocks the truck only dazes me.

Isabelle sits upright. "What was that?"

"Huh? What was what?" I ask, bewildered.

"A bomb, idiot," Aline answers, obviously overjoyed to see Isabelle and I panicked and ignorant.

Then her own face morphs into fear, and I can't help but grin. _A bomb. This close to where you're sitting, and yet you manage to smile._

There's shouting, banging, guns firing, and suddenly the doors to the truck are flung open by a stranger. We immediately scramble out and there's so much adrenaline in me that I jump down without any help. Surprisingly, it feels fun.

It's a forest. Rapid gunfire can be heard on the other side of the thick line of trees. A couple hundred meters away, there's a large red cross attached to several makeshift tents. Soldiers are hauling soldiers on bloody stretchers, nurses are shouting at nurses. I can't tear my eyes away from one injured man who's missing everything below his knees. The flesh is almost purplish, and skin and muscle are knotted around pearly white bone. I hear most of the girls and some of the boys gag into their hands, but I don't feel a bit disgusted. The man is unconcious, thank goodness, but I see that one of his carriers is holding something - a forearm, by the looks of it, and then I realize that the soldier is holding his own arm, a dazed but determined look on his face. Does he feel no pain?

Before I know it, tears fall down my cheeks. So many people. So many.

 _Too_ many.

Then there's a zooming sound. I look up and see a fleet of planes flying towards us. Everyone in the divisions is cheering, waving their arms at the planes to catch their attention and say, _Over here! These guys need help!_

But something's wrong.

I squint and just make out the color of the planes. There's a swastika on the side, red and white. "Guys? I don't think these are..."

Too late. The first volley of bombs are dropped, straight into the trees. The cheering turns into screaming, and it's absolute chaos. Some try getting back into the trucks, but fumble with the doors. Some run the other direction of the forest, but how can you possibly outrun aircraft? Especially those made from Germany's genius mechanics? The hospital and patients don't seem fazed, as if they'd heard noises so loud on the battlefield that they've become deaf. I look at the direction of the planes, and realize they're heading straight for the hospital. Without a second thought, I run towards the white tents, glancing between that and the planes, counting the seconds.

 _Please. Please let me make it._

Before I even reach the tents, I begin shouting desperately. "Run! The planes!" I choke on my own words.

Then the sky rains bowling balls.

I know I need to get out of there, I know. I know, but it's like my finger before the trigger. I can't move, I can't think. I can only watch as the ground around me erupts in fiery orange volcanoes, spewing grass and dirt and mud everywhere. It's showering me, and I can only watch. I can only watch.

A huge force lifts me off my feet and I fly several meters before landing on my side painfully. Someone's shouting, but my ears are ringing like I've installed a bell in my eardrums. I scramble, trying to get back up, but then another bomb lands a short distance off and shoots dirt straight into my mouth. I cough, feeling my stomach twist, my hands struggling to hold me up. The smell of smoke and blood burns my nostrils and brings more tears to my eyes, but it's nothing compared to what I see when I lift my head.

The woman's eyes bore into mine. They're milky white but bleeding like red tears. They drip onto the dead grass one by one.

She has no body.

Half of her neck is exposed, veins and tendones spilling out, maggot-like. I have never seen someone beheaded before. It almost looks funny, like the head doesn't belong to her shoulders anyway. Her mouth is slightly ajar, but the back of her head is gone too, her skull ripped away by the blast that had be choking on dirt. Without meaning to, the image embeds itself into my memory, burning my eyes and pounding against my mind.

I feel my body heave my breakfast out, even though I don't feel the slightest of repugnance. Horror, yes, but nothing that should make me throw up. But I do anyway.

Blood clouds my vision, caking my face and dripping into my eyes, nose, and mouth. _Her blood_ , I think, and it's all I can do to not vomit again.

Hands grab me by my collar and pull me along on the ground, but all I can do is stare at those pale, dead eyes. All they do is stare back into mine.

Then I see the sky as I get lied down.

Jace's patting my cheek. "Clary? Clary, can you hear me?"

No, I can't hear anything, but I can read his lips. I nod my head. Then he seems to breathe a sigh of relief, and then says something to someone, but I can't move my head to see who. Jace's hair and face is covered in soot and dust, but it reminds me of an angel, smokey and fiery. Despite everything, I crack a smile. Someone props me up against a hard rubbery surface and Isabelle comes into view. She's crying, really crying, and her hand shakes as she uses a cloth to wipe away at my face. I see Jace stand up and run into one of the tents. It's flaming, tendrils of fire licking the sky and smoke turning the blue into grey. I want to tell him to come back, but my voice refuses to cooperate.

"Don't _ever_ do that again, Clary," Isabelle's voice hits me like a brick and my head throbs from the noise. One of my ears seems to be working again, but the other still rings. " _Ever_."

I nod again. I think that's the only thing I can do.

Then everything goes dark.

* * *

 **My favourite chapter so far! Tell me your thoughts, please, because I'm not sure if the descriptions are good enough. A tiny bit graphic? Should I tone it down next time? There will definitely be MUCH more gory things. I'm just getting started... Hehe. o_O**

 **Can you believe I've missed an entire week of school? The medecine is making me feel like throwing up all the time... :(**

 **But anyway! I LOVE Clary in this chapter! Attagirl!**

 **If you liked the headless woman and Clary's bravery, review!**

 **-RtMiP**


	11. Execution

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

* * *

I bolt upright, gasping. The image of Sebastian's bodiless head is rooted into my brain.

"Finally awake?"

I start and my head whips towards the voice. Jace is leaning against the wall of the dorm room, hair tousled. His left arm is in a sling, but the rest of him seems unharmed. His eyes are bright and he looks so beautiful without the military uniform that I take a moment to take him in. My heart pinches at the idea of him getting hurt, painfully. The 'finally' makes me wonder how long I've been asleep. "How many days have I been out of it?"

"Not yet a day. Only four or five hours. You missed dinner," he says, walking in and sitting at the edge of my bed. After everything, he only cares about food. "How're you feeling?"

"I... I don't know," I admit and look down at my wrung hands. I quickly untangle them. "It's so unreal."

"Nothing seems real when you're facing an enemy that could kill you with a twitch of his finger," he says, and I meet his eyes. "But it is. Real."

I swallow, suddenly feeling completely, utterly vulnerable. "I...don't want to end up like that nurse."

He doesn't say anything. How can he? What promises can he make? I nearly got blasted into pieces not long ago. There's no saying I won't again.

"What happened to your arm?" I ask after a moment.

Jace glances down at his hand and shrugs. "Nothing big. One of the tent columns fell on me."

I nod, though I don't know what his idea of 'big' is if a broken or fractured arm isn't for him. I clear my throat and try to fill in the empty silence. "Did you get anyone out?"

His eyes darken at that. "Only a couple. The majority got buried under the wreckage. The ones who made it out didn't survive either."

"I'm sorry." It's the only thing I think of saying at the moment.

But Jace only shakes his head, a small smile on his face. "Why would you apologize? It's not your fault."

"I know, but don't you know 'sorry' is Canada's favourite word?" I joke, wondering how on Earth I could afford something like that now.

He raises his eyebrows. "You're Canadian?"

"No, I'm from the States. You?" I ask, curious.

He hesitates for a moment before replying. "New York. So yeah, I'm American too."

I smile, but it doesn't hold for long. There's another moment of silence.

Another moment.

Another.

Jace suddenly reaches into his jean pocket and brings out a tiny object wrapped in red wrapping, shaped like a mound of poop. I scrunch up my nose. "What's that?"

He laughs and shakes his head in disbelief. "You've never seen chocolate before?"

"Of course I have," I say indignantly, "but never in that shape before. Are you sure that's chocolate?"

"Kiss," he says.

"Wh-what?" I flush. Did he just say-

"No, not _that_ kiss," he says, grinning, and I can tell he's enjoying my misunderstanding. "Hershey's kisses? I don't believe you've never had them before. Where'd your childhood go?"

"My family doesn't really eat sweets that much," I say.

"Then you'd better eat this while you can." Jace smirks, and I'm mesmerized by his beautiful, heart-wrenching smile. I take up the little red chocolate from his hand and find the beginning of the wrap, careful not to tear the paper, all the while knowing his gaze is on me. Inside is dark, milk chocolate and I giggle at the real resemblance it as to poop. Before he can ask why I'm laughing, I pop it into my mouth and let the thick sweetness wash over my tongue, melting.

Then a thought surfaces, a memory. "I don't believe you."

"Believe me?" he asks, confusion outlining his face. "Wh-"

"When you said you didn't know my brother. Like, _know_ know. I don't believe you," I say, having no idea where the words are coming from.

"Clary," he sighs out, and then rakes a hand through his perfectly messed-up hair. "Why must you be so difficult sometimes?"

"Gee, thanks," I say, letting sarcasm drip.

"No, not like that. It's just..." His reluctance only sparks my eagerness. "What did your father tell you about Sebastian?"

I feel my eyebrows shoot up. I knew it. Jace _does_ know him. "We received a letter saying that Sebastian died. Nothing else."

"Nothing else?" Jace asks. Then he bites his lip in the sexiest way imaginable and I bite mine, trying not to go crazy. "Your brother was executed."

I nearly dig my teeth into my lip. "What?"

"When a soldier runs from war, we kill them," he says, looking away, looking at the wall. Anywhere but my face. My hands squeeze the blankets so hard it hurts. "If they get captured, of course."

"So..." I hiccup. It's a tiny noise, but sounds so loud in my ears. "Sebastian ran and..."

Jace doesn't look at me, and my stomach clenches.

No.

 _No_.

My brother isn't a coward.

My brother _isn't_ a coward.

My brother wouldn't run.

He would never abandon others.

Never.

"So your name's Jonathan, huh," is the only thing that slips out of my mouth. My voice cracks.

Jace doesn't reply.

"You were his friend?" I ask, tears beginning to coat my eyes. "His best friend?"

He still doesn't look at me.

" _LOOK AT ME!"_ I almost scream, sobbing. "Look at me, Jonathan!"

He turns his face towards me, and I'm struck with how broken he looks. Jaw clenched, eyes almost pinkish. But I don't let his appearance affect me.

"You told him to join the army?" I'm not thinking straight.

"He asked me," he says quietly.

" _I don't care!"_ It comes out as a breathy rasp, and without another thought, I hit him. My fist connects with his chest and with every word, I hit him again. "Why did you let him? Why did you let him get killed? Why didn't you run with him? Why didn't you help him? Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Jace doesn't resist.

"I."

 _Hit_.

"Hate."

 _Hit_.

"You."

 _Hit._

"Jonathan."

 _Hit_.

"Herondale."

 _Hit._

He pulls me into him, trapping my arms against me. _I hate you I hate you I hate you._ "Let _go_ of me, you bastard!"

Jace doesn't.

After a while, I give up, falling into him and his terrible warmth. My tears wet his shirt, but I don't care. I simply don't care anymore.

Then he whispers the words into my ear. "You're not the only one loved him, you know."

He lets go and is out the room before I can even think of a reply.

It leaves me hurting more than ever.

* * *

 **I swear my hormones is the reason I'm crying.**

 **That and I'm listening to _Kiss the Rain_ by Yiruma and I'm just sad. Hence the angsty chapter.**

 **Any other instrument players out there?**

 **Thoughts on this chapter? Revelations, anyone?**

 **If you enjoyed, review!**

 **-RtMiP**


	12. Gossip Girl

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

* * *

 **Isabelle** (for plot development reasons)

"Here's your stupid juice, Simon," I say, shoving the box into his scrawny chest. Jeez, fill out already.

He blinks and takes it. "Thanks."

The cranberry juice ran out a half hour ago, so I saved him one. But really, who likes _cranberry_ juice? Before I met Simon, I had no idea such thing existed. "Now fess up. What did you see on the cameras?"

"And why should I tell you?" he leers. Despite his skinny frame, he's actually taller than me.

I roll my eyes and scoff. "Stop pretending to be tough, Simon. I'm only here for the gossip."

He deflates and shrugs. "Sure, whatever."

"So?"

"So..." He taps his chin with his finger and stares at the ceiling. "I saw Clary and Jace all over each other in the gym this morning."

"What the..." I glance at Clary, who's sitting in the far corner of the cafeteria. Jace is sitting beside her. Too obvious. "Anything else?"

"Hey, one piece of information per juice box. That's custom," he says indignantly.

I stare him down.

"Okay," he gulps out. "Um..."

"Um?" I hiss.

"I'm trying to remember, okay? I kind of fell asleep after hacking the camp wifi security to use it to search up..." He suddenly goes a shade of red I thought only Clary could muster up.

It's so obvious I'm not even surprised. "Nudes or porn?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he declares, looking away. Simon's red face is getting darker by the second.

For some reason, I'm uncomfortable with him looking at girls, even through a screen. In a sing-song voice, I threaten, "I'll tell everyone you know the WiFi password..."

Simon holds his hands up, eyes wide. "No thanks. I'll, um, tell you everything you want to know."

"Great!" I say and, hooking my arm with his, walk us towards the nearest empty spot. "Now spill."

"I'm not going to _say_ say it, but I'll tell you how you can see for yourself," he whispers, and I have to lean down to hear him. I don't miss the glance he shoots at my boobs, with my bending lower and all, but I pretend not to notice. "Afternoon, three o'clock in the boy's bathroom, third year."

"Am I _supposed_ to be able to understand that?" I ask, hands on hips. "Stop spewing crap and get to the point."

"I'm not sure _what's_ happening, but this morning I saw on camera that your brother and the really weird-looking and tall magic dude say they were going to meet in the bathroom," Simon says, slurping on his juice box.

"Magnus." It's not a question.

"Sure. He was the guy who cut me into pieces last year, remember?" he says distractedly.

" _What?_ "

"Oh, don't worry. It was a trick. Never figured it out though, even after rewatching the cameras two dozen times." He pauses. "I viewed one second so many times the video glitched me out. Magnus was sticking the sword into the box - his hand looked like he was having a fucking seizure when I clicked repeat. Remember?"

"Gee, let me think," I say, knitting my eyebrows. " _No_. What the hell is this about?"

"I don't know," he says, annoyed. _He's_ annoyed? The guts.

"Are they...?" I make my fingers peck together.

"Dunno, Izzy. I fell asleep. _Remember?_ "

 _Of course he did_. _How convenient_. "Fine. Drink your blood. I hope you choke."

I walk away.

"Vampires can't choke on blood, you know that?" Simon calls after me.

* * *

 **Clary**

"What the heck-"

I don't look up, but still know it's Isabelle as she walks into the room, a confused look plastered onto her face. "Was that Jace? Why did he come by?"

I don't answer.

"He looked angry. You guys okay?" she asks as she sheds her uniform.

I remain silent.

" _Fine_."

"Fine," I say, looking away.

A moment passes.

"Okay, you've _got_ to tell me. Did you guys get together suddenly and break up?"

"Just leave me alone, okay?"

"Fine."

Another moment passes.

"Your dad came by today."

That gets my attention. "What?"

Isabelle sighs. "Simon told me that they said the attack was really weird. Like, we were winning, and all of a sudden these planes come over and go bam."

"That's war in a nutshell, isn't it?" I say bitterly, and crawl back into my covers. My head throbs.

"I don't know, Clary. It _is_ kind of weird, right? I mean the planes didn't drop on the soldiers on the battlefield, but on us. Sketchy, isn't it?"

"Wrong timing?" I offer. Doubtful, though. The more I think about it, the stranger it gets. "You don't think they were targeting us, do you?"

"Why would they, though? We pose no threat to them," Isabelle says, crossing her arms.

"And they wouldn't have known that we were coming, so I'd cancel out the option. But attacking the hospital..." I desperately try to make my mind turn onto a different topic other than the conversation I had with Jace, and it seems to be working. "Someone ratted us out? But that doesn't answer your question of why they would target _us_."

Isabelle holds up her hands. "Woah, there. You're really suited for this strategy thing. But _I_ , on the other hand, want my beauty sleep. So stop making me confused."

I roll my eyes as she picks up her pajamas and heads out to the showers. My head hits my pillow as I flop backward, wondering if I should be worrying over what happened earlier today.

Hopefully wrong timing is the right answer.

* * *

 **I lied. Simon's not an asshole. Well, he _kinda_ still is, but he's actually important for the plot progression.**

 **Can vampires choke on blood?**

 **Short chapter, I know, but I have a shitload of classes today (and it's Saturday, for Pete's sake) so I might only be updating once today. X_X This chapter was really crucial for the story though so... Anyone with me on this weekend classes thing?**

 **If you enjoyed, review!**

 **-RtMiP**


	13. The Phone Call

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

 **News:** I wrote a oneshot (my first!) yesterday during debate class and posted it. Not sure how it is though... R&R? The writing style's a bit different from this one.

 **Notice:** More girl drama is going to be introduced from now on. I don't typically write this kind of stuff so I hope you guys won't be disappointed!

* * *

I don't go to the gym today.

The two extra hours of sleep are bliss and I wonder why on Earth I'd decided to sacrifice them in the first place. Oh right, because Jace offered. _You fall too easily, Clare-bear._

For once, I agree with my conscience.

Slowly, I drag myself out of bed and land on the floor with a painful thud. None of the three other girls are awake yet, but that's no surprise considering how late they come back to the dorm each night. Kaelie's gone doing God knows what, Maia cries herself to sleep (why, I have no idea), and Isabelle is determined to put on a face mask, though she forgets to take it off. Good grief.

But I know I'm not one to criticize. The first thing I need to do is get my hands on a phone and tell my father the reason for Sebastian's death so he can kick the ass of the executioner. Even though Valentine hardly cares for me and Jocelyn, I know he's formed some sort of bond with my brother. Father, son?

I don't know of any phone here but Isabelle's. I shake her awake. She groans and flips onto her back to look at me, and then scowls. "What do you want, Clary?"

"Good morning to you too," I whisper. "Can I borrow your phone for a second?"

"It's out of battery," she replies groggily and then blinks awake. "Wait, why do you need it?"

"I want to call mommy," I say slyly, hoping she wouldn't pry.

She doesn't and sits up, reaching under her pillow and handing me the sleek black device along with its charger. "Don't drop it. Password's 5-3-7-0."

"I won't," I say and collect the items. There isn't an outlet anywhere in this room, but I know of one down the hallway near the building door. Quickly and quietly, I slip out the room and tip-toe down the hallway. It's dark and empty but straight so I don't have a trouble finding the place to stuff the charger head into the wall. After a couple seconds, the screen lights up and I unlock it. The phone app is right on the toolbar and I tap it, hands shaking. _Please let him answer._

I dial the number and put the phone to my ear, looking around the hallway. After five rings, still no one picks up. I check to see if the number's correct. It is.

Something crashes into the wall beside me. I scream and instinctively duck, flattening myself on the floor. Several more firecracker-like sounds and I'm plugging my ears from the all too familiar sound - gunfire. I force myself to take deep breaths as I stay still, eyes squeezed shut. Then the shooting stops, and behind me, doors open. Light filters into the hallway and I lift my head cautiously, meeting the eyes of sleepheads.

"Clary? What're you doing?" Isabelle asks. "Was that gunfire?"

"It was..." I say, crawling up onto my knees but not yet onto my feet.

"What's that you're holding?" Kaelie asks, narrowing her upturned eyes. "Not a gun, I hope?"

I'm pretty sure she's hoping for a gun.

"No," I say and look at Isabelle, who's biting her lip. "A phone."

"Ha!" Kaelie cackles with glee. "You're in _so_ much trouble."

Magnus steps out of his room in sparkly pajamas and pads down the hallway to the patch of bullet-damaged wall. Whispers of 'fag' and 'gay' travel down the hall, but Magnus seems unfazed. "Was someone shooting at you, Clary?"

"What?" I only then realize that the bullets would've peppered me if not for my immediate reaction. "I-I don't know. Why would they?"

Just then the building doors fly open and Jace appears. He's in a strange outfit of uniform pants and a black t-shirt, but there's a gun in his hands. When his eyes land on me and the wall, they grow wide. "Who shot?"

"Everyone was asleep but Clary," Kaelie immediately said, pointing at me. I want to lop that finger right off.

"What were you doing awake?" Jace asks me, bending down and checking for injuries in a rough, clinical way. He looks at the phone. "Who were you calling?"

"My...my dad," I whisper so that only he can hear. Realization dawns on him, and then his eyes turn cold.

"And someone just started shooting? Nothing else?" he asks.

I nod. "I swear. The bullets would've hit me."

"But there aren't any windows in this building except in the rooms," Isabelle points out and walks to sit beside me, taking back her phone. "How did they see Clary?" The moment she asks the question, however, she looks as if she knows the answer.

"Isabelle..." Jace says in a low voice, warningly.

"Cameras," she breathes, clenching her fists.

"Cameras?" I ask, confusion flooding over me. I never knew there were cameras. "Aren't they protected though?"

"Hackers, then. An extremely skilled hacker," Jace growls, and glares at Isabelle.

"Hey, back off," I say, shielding her. "What's she got to do with it? She was in the room the entire time and was there when she lent me the phone."

"Oh, I know Isabelle's no hacker," he says, looking at me. "But she knows one. Don't you?"

"I..." She looks at the ground. "I do. But I promise, he wouldn't do something like-"

"It doesn't matter whether he would or wouldn't. He either did or didn't."

"Who is it, Isabelle?" I ask, putting my hand on her arm.

She shakes her head, stubborn. Jace looks as if he knows the answer, but gives generous face and moves onto another topic. "Someone needed to be the hacker and someone else needed to be the shooter. Everyone else is already looking for the hitman. Isabelle, think it through and tell us when you're ready."

She nods and quickly gets up, stumbling in a way she never does and retreating back into her room. People still have their heads poked out of their rooms. Jace looks at them until they too return back. "Everyone's exempted from training today. Don't come out of the building unless it's mealtime."

I let Jace help me up, and only then do I notice I'm shaking. My hands are sweaty and my heart's thumping against my ribcage. What's going on?

"You're staying with me until everything's sorted out," he says into my ear.

I whip to look at him so fast that my hair whips myself. "What?"

"It's not safe in your room anymore." He hesitates. "And I have a feeling yesterday's bombing has something to do with this."

How he makes the connection, I'll never know. I nod numbly, though, and quickly gather my belongings and follow Jace out the dorms. He herds me into another off-white building and leads me into an elevator that I didn't know existed. When we reach the sixth floor, the elevator dings and the doors slide open into a hotel-like hallway - muffled, carpeted, and somewhat luxurious. I raise my eyebrow at the obvious difference between the dorms and the sergeants' living quarters. Very funny.

His room is large as well, with a walk-in bedroom and closet and a living room. Unfortunately, my eye latches onto the single bed - a queen, but still a single bed. Jace smirks at my slac expression falls onto the sofa. "Take the bed. The sofa'll suffice for me."

I mumble a thanks and sit at the edge of the mattress, feeling both exhilaration and trepidation.

One room, one girl, one boy? Never going to turn out well.

* * *

 **Soooooo. Clary moves in with Jace. Haha. Aline's going to be sooooo jealous.**

 **Okay, so I know I implied that Simon was the hacker, and he is. (Brownie points for those of you who guessed it!) BUT. He's not a bad guy. Like, he's far from the villain. If you guys read this chapter and the previous chapters carefully enough, you can basically guess who the evil dude is! It's kind of obvious, though... Anyway, I promise you that things will NOT be what you think it is at this point because I haven't dropped any clues. I'm thinking the next chapter will have something, though!**

 **Stick around and if you like the idea of Clace sharing a bed (in the near future, I promise), review!**

 **-RtMiP**


	14. I Think I Like Chocolate

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

* * *

This is awkward.

I'm sitting at the edge of the bed, still, and Jace has the television on to a low volume. A channel about the war. Typical.

What can I do? Watch bloody gore with him on the sofa? I know I won't survive it, but there's no other option except that - talking is not an option, especially when I'm bound to stutter myself embarassed. Jace _radiates_ the exact something that makes my hormones go wild.

Talk about awkward.

Did I mention the awkwardness?

"There's food in the fridge," Jace says suddenly, "so pick whatever you want."

I nod, and then remember that he probably can't see me. Is this how he spends his weekends? Sitting in front of the T.V. flipping through people fighting each other? I almost pity him, and then remember that _I'm_ the one being hunted down right now, and the pity disappears for him and appears for me. Strangely, I'm not panicking, which is a miracle, because I practically panic for everything. The thought of knowing someone's going after me for some reason _calms_ me instead of frightens me. That's good, right?

Thinking of the food, I look around the room until my eyes land on a large cupboard dug into the side of the wall. It opens up into a fridge and my eyebrows rise in delight at the sight of ice-cream. And then my eyes narrow at why on Earth sergeants are allowed ice-cream and no one else is. There's cold water and ice water, for sure, but nothing as wonderful as cold vanilla. I tear open an untouched box and fumble around the cones until I find the one I want, then rip the papering away and gorge myself on the cool goodness.

Suddenly, a hand reaches over my shoulder and snatches a chocolate cone. I wrinkle my nose and before I can stop myself, I say, "Who likes _chocolate_?"

" _I_ like chocolate," he says and licks the cone almost seductively, making my stomach flutter. "Who likes vanilla? It's so bland."

"Excuse _me_ ," I say, seriously offended, "but when you put it that way, chocolate's too sweet."

"Wanna compare?" he asks mischeivously, and I suddenly get a strange feeling.

" _Fine_ , give me a taste," I say and snatch for his cone.

"You asked for it," and then he leans in close, and all of a sudden, I can't breathe.

His lips are brushing mine.

Some part of me is squealing, some part of me is leering.

And my hand ruins it all when it makes contact with Jace's cheek.

Jace pulls away faster than I can apologize, but instead of being disappointed, he's shaking with laughter. I clap my stinging hand over my mouth and feel tears rise into my eyes and a burning sensation travel down my nose. I manage to squeak out, "Sorry!"

"No problem," he says, smirking and returning to his sofa.

"Wait," it slips out of my mouth. "Jace, wait."

He turns around and lifts a perfect eyebrow at me, and suddenly the words get stuck in my throat. "Yeah?"

"Can we..." I gulp and dig my fingers into my palms. "Can we start again?"

"The ice-cream argument or the-"

"Kiss." I wince. "It was meant to be a kiss, right?"

He chuckles and walks over to me. "Yes, it was."

"Okay," I say, standing up straighter.

"Okay," he says softly and smiles his beautiful one-sided smile, and places his lips on mine.

I taste his cold chocolate breath, mixing with my vanilla. His lips are so soft, chilling, but soft, and before I know it, his hands are cupping my face and my hands are in his silky golden hair. The kiss isn't fierce, but rather experimental. I personally think it's quite successful so far. Better than my hypothesis, that's for sure.

 _I think I like chocolate,_ I think giddily.

* * *

 **Short chapter, yada yada. But I'm at school and I think their first kiss deserves a chapter on it's own. Whadya guys think?**

 **So I'm sure some of you might be: What the... That was fast...** **BUT. You'll see the reason for it later on... soon? Not really, though. _Anyway_ , hope you enjoyed it and yeah... ****My best friend (TheGirlWhoLikesToWrite) in real life is betaing for me! Whoop! Smooches to you.**

 **If you like chocolate, review!**

 **-RtMiP**


	15. The Kitchen Interrogation

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

 **Reply to Guest review:** I'll make sure to try that type of ice-cream out soon! :)

* * *

" _So_...?" Isabelle wiggles her eyebrows.

"So what?" I look down at my plate - meat and rice. Jace was right about vegetables and fruits and grain not being able to last me throughout the entire camp.

"So, how did it go with him last night?" She nudges me with the butt of her fork.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I answer nonchalantly, and to move the spotlight onto her, I ask, "Did you report the hacker yet?"

This time it's her turn to stab at her noodles with karate-chopping speed. "I'll get to it."

I grin and we eat in silence.

* * *

Time flies.

Training with Jace (alone), breakfast, training, lunch, training, dinner, liberty, sleep.

Repeat.

The ice-cream runs out in less than a week, and although I'm guilty of the majority of the eating, I comfort myself with the fact that it's not as if Jace would eat much anyway. After that kiss, he'd suddenly drawn away, as if nothing had happened and I wasn't in the room. I can't say I'm not hurt.

The worse side is that Aline and Kaelie and a bunch of Jace-obsessed girls have been down my back every chance they get and Isabelle's avoiding me after I questioned her at lunch. So much for friends.

Good news?

I can hit the bulls-eye every time I get my hands on a rifle. The morning training has finally pulled off and I've found that though my finger still refuses to cooperate, I can pull the trigger if I imagine the target as a Nazi plane's nose. It's absolutely wonderful-feeling whenever I dig my elbows into the dirt and close one eye.

Two weeks after the first attack, the building next to ours narrowly avoids bombing, and everyone's currently sitting in the cafeteria with all these officials I've never seen before. We're going through interrogation, one by one, in the kitchen. But we haven't had anything to eat the entire day, and the delicious waft of pasta from the stove isn't helping any of us focus on telling the truth. Worse? I'm apparently the victim, so I've got to sit through the entire six divisions while they deny wrongdoing.

Magnus Bane looks as if he's sitting through a three-hour long piano concert. His cat-lidded eyes practically radiate calm.

"Hey Clary," he says offhandedly, and I offer a small wave from across the long table.

"You will not speak until spoken to," the woman beside me snaps sharply. Imogen Herondale or something. Distant relative of Jace.

"Sure," Magnus offers, undeterred.

"What were you doing on the night of the shooting?" Imogen asks, gazing at the suspect from behind her owl-shaped glasses.

"Sleeping."

"Did you hear anything outside of the building?"

"No, but there was talking in the hallway."

I blush. "That would be me."

Imogen glares at me and the blush fades. I wring my hands underneath the table. "Mr. Bane, was everyone in your room when you slept?"

"Hmm," he murmurs, and I involuntarily sit forward. "I... Yes, everyone."

The woman narrows her eyes and jots something down on her clipboard. "You don't sound so sure."

"I was, ah, with Alec," he admits, but doesn't seem to ashamed. "I didn't get a chance to see who was there and who wasn't."

"And who might this Alec be?"

"Third year, Alec Lightwood," he reports dutifully, and I detect some sort of pride in his voice with the way he puffs out his chest and a sparkle comes to his eyes.

"One of the Lightwoods..." Imogen shakes her head. "Children these days."

I don't understand but don't bother asking. She doesn't seem like the type of person who would take the time to answer me.

After a moment, she puts down her pencil and nods. "You may go now. Call Isabelle Lightwood in."

A couple minutes later, Isabelle hops into the room, hands clasped behind her back. She avoids my gaze, and I know that she still hasn't fessed up.

"Please, take a seat," Imogen says and gestures to the chair in front of me. "I'm going to ask you some questions and I want you to reply as honestly as you can, alright?"

It's not a question, but Isabelle nods anyway.

"Why did you have your phone?" The first question is much harder than Magnus' last one.

"Music, games, emergency contact..." Isabelle trails off at the look on Imogen's face. She tends to have that kind of affect. "I don't feel safe without it."

"Were you aware of the anti-electronic rule before packing your phone?"

"Yes, I was," Isabelle says without hesitation.

"And have you lent it to anyone else other than Clary?"

This time, she fidgets with her uniform. "Yes, I have."

"To whom?"

"I..." Isabelle flinches. "I can't say."

"Does that person happen to be the hacker?" I ask suddenly, angry.

"So what if it is?" she hisses back, and I know her expression is more venomous than mine. Very protective.

"You know that criminal accomplices will be punished as well?" Imogen questions, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yes, I do."

"And you still wish to with hold information?"

"Yes, I do."

Frustration flits through me.

"Alright then," Imogen sighs and moves on. "Did you notice anything strange about your roommates?"

Isabelle visibly relaxes and pauses to think. Then she says slowly, "Maia often comes back crying late at night, and Kaelie... Kaelie doesn't like Clary much."

"No one does," I mutter resentfully, and then cough into my fist to cover the comment up.

"Kaelie and Maia," Imogen says and scribbles the names onto her paper. "Anything else?"

"Nothing. Oh, and Aline pisses us out too," Isabelle adds, and I roll my eyes.

"Do you know the reason behind it?"

" _Duh_ ," she says. "Jace."

I want to bury my face into my hands.

Imogen doesn't say anything, but continues to write. I have a strong urge to snatch that clipboard out of her wiry-thin hands and read what she has on there. "Thank you. You may go now."

Isabelle whips out of her seat and exits the kitchen. I turn to Imogen and ask, "Aren't you going to tell her to call for the next person?"

"Actually," she says, putting down her clipboard, "I wanted to speak with _you_."

"Me."

"Yes." Imogen stares at me with her piercing eyes. "Why were you calling General Morgenstern?"

"Because I miss him," I lie and shrug my shoulders, praying that it sounds reasonable.

"He visited earlier that day. Why did you not speak with him then?"

"I was in bed." That's true.

"Because of the hospital field trip, yes?"

"Right."

"Were you aware of the fact that he was still here when you called him?"

My eyebrows rise. This is news. "No, I wasn't."

"Did he pick up?"

"No," I say, thinking back to the call.

"No," she repeats, and then sighs. "That will be all. You're free to return to your living quarters for the day."

"Okay." I'm about to leave when I suddenly remember something. "Why did Valentine come over?"

"To check up on you, my dear," she says wryly and I can't tell if she's kidding or not.

I narrow my eyes but Imogen's not even looking at me anymore. When it's obvious that her clipboard contents are more fascinating than me, I turn and fling the door open. It's difficult to tell whether I'm really being targeted or if it's just a coincidence. I've done nothing to spite anyone enough to go to such far measures.

Or have I?

* * *

 **I suck.**

 **This chapter in general is pretty crappy. I don't spend much time on this story and each chapter (because, again, I have my other original works to hardcore work on), but this is a new low for me. I haven't updated in practically an entire week, and though I know I don't have much of an excuse, I have to say it's because I'm trying to move this story forward and this chapter was so hard to get out! I tend to lose interest in a lot of my works quickly if I don't have every exact thing planned out, so I'm actually not sure if I'm going to finish this one. I'll do my best though, I promise! I'm going to start a new fanfic alongside this one so there's at least _something_ being updated between this one. But the updates for this one might get spread out a bit because I kind of realized that my summer's going to be busy... :( **

**If you are still in school for two more weeks and you're like "Wwwhhhyyy?!," review! (Actually, don't review. I don't deserve it.)**

 **-RtMiP**


	16. London Bridge is Falling Down

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

* * *

The room is dark except for the flashing of the television coming from the living room. I stretch and roll out of bed, working the knots out of my shoulders and neck, and then throw on my uniform. Silently, I make my way to the couch that Jace has taken over. I'm just about to nudge him awake when I see his hand wrapped around a small wooden picture frame, turned down, on his stomach. As gently as I can, I tug the frame out of his grasp and flip it over.

There's Jace, probably a couple years younger, and then there's...

My eyes are swimming with tears even before his name pops up into my mind.

Sebastian, with Valentine's silvery hair and fierce, dangerous eyes, has his arm around Jace's shoulders and a huge grin stretched onto his face. I don't really understand why I'm crying until I realize it's because it's been years since I've seen him so carefree. Ironically, it's Jace in this photo that seems to be weighed down by troubles, not Seb. As I move to return the frame, a slip of paper falls out between the wood and lands before my feet. Glancing at Jace to make sure he's still sound asleep, I bend down to retrieve it from underneath the sofa.

The page looks like it belonged to a notebook, but why on Earth Jace would keep such a tiny thing-

 _Traitor_.

Before I finish my thought, my gaze lands on the single word scrawled messily onto the white, crumpled sheet and I gasp.

"Clary?"

I bolt up so quickly my head collides with the bottom of the sofa. Jace is looking at me with his signature concerned look. Breathlessly, I say, "Yes?"

"What're you doing?" He squints in the darkness, but I can clearly see him - perfectly ruffled hair, the outline of his shoulders.

"Um, nothing," I say quickly. "Just doing some cleaning."

"Right," he says, obviously not convinced, and sits up. As he heads off to the bathroom, he calls, "Well, you might want to use the duster instead of just your hands, Clary."

"Of course." My fist is closed around the slip of paper like it's my lifeline. The frame is still beneath the sofa, but I'm not risking having Jace catch me snooping.

Brushing my pants off, I race to the bedroom and slam the door shut. I uncurl my fingers and stare disbelievingly at the single word. Why was it in the picture frame of Sebastian? Who wrote it? Does that mean Jace thinks my brother is a traitor? Then why...?

Questions attack my mind in waves and I bury my face in my hands. I don't understand... I don't understand...

A knock comes from the door and I nearly shriek.

"Clary, did you see a picture frame anywhere by chance?" Jace's voice comes floating in.

My nails dig deep into my palm. "I think there was something underneath your couch. Maybe that's what you're looking for?"

I know my voice is at least half an octave higher than usual, but hopefully the door is thick enough. After an agonizing moment of silence, he calls, "Found it. Thanks."

A big breath whooshes out of me and I flop onto my back on the bed, squeezing my eyes shut.

 _We'll see who's traitor._

* * *

"Isabelle!"

She turns around in the hallway, arms crossed. "What do you want, Clary?"

"I..." I stop my jog and walk towards her. "Did you-"

"I told them, okay?" she snaps. "Stop bothering me."

I blink in surprise. "That's not what I was going to ask..."

"Then what the hell is it that you want from me?" Isabelle nearly snarls.

"I just wanted to know if you received a call back from Val-my dad. I need to ask him something."

"They took my phone away," she says, and them slumps. "Happy?"

"Why would I be-"

"Gee, I don't know." She throws her hands into the air. "Maybe because you told Alec that I don't want him to be with Magnus anymore?"

"I never-"

"Stop pretending, Clary!" She digs around in her pocket and brings out an envelope. "This letter to Alec? It's in your handwriting, for heaven's sake!"

The paper is so close to my face that I can't even make out the words. I take a step back and snatch it from her hands, aware of the fact that she has her arms crossed over her chest and is watching me.

 _Alec,_

 _Stop being a pussy and get a life. You don't need to pretend to be gay to gain attention, you know? The only reason why I told everyone about you was because you've got to get it together and see that no one appreciates guy x guy. No, seriously. Go see a therapist or something and get your sack in the right mouth and stop going all moody on me. When will you grow up?_

 _-Iz_

 _P.S. Stop complaining about my goddamn playlist all the time._

I look up, my mouth open, and blink several times. Isabelle grabs the letter back and wipes furiously at the tears that are starting to fall from her dark eyes. My lips form an 'o,' but no sound comes out. _I didn't do it_.

"Anything left to say?" she spits at me. My voice still doesn't work. "No? Fine, because I have _tons_ I want to tell you."

With more force imaginable, Isabelle shoves me back through the bathroom door and I slip on the wet tiles, landing on my butt painfully. Just as she begins talking, or rather yelling, I realize why I don't have anything to say - it _is_ in my handwriting, somehow. My heart thuds in my chest and my breathing quickens. Who? How? Suddenly, I'm wondering if I _did_ write this.

"It's not just me, Clary. Do you know how upset my brother was? Do you even care about his feelings, my feelings?" She enters the showers as well and her shoes slap against the floor. "What am I saying? Of course you don't care. If you cared, you wouldn't have done it!"

"I..." I swallow. "I didn't."

"You're still in denial? Seriously? No, _seriously_?" she scoffs and sneers and pushes me farther into the bathroom. "And I thought you were my _friend_."

"I am, Isabe-"

"Don't call me _ISABELLE!_ " she screams, sobbing.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, something bursts. I can feel the anger and heat rise up within me, and without notice, I see red. In a soft voice, I ask, "If you thought I was your friend, why didn't you have any trust in me?"

That makes her hesitate for a moment. The slight decline in the speed of her walking, the subtle look of surprise in her eyes. A month ago, I wouldn't have been able to tell, but now, I notice how I can read people's actions more accurately.

When she doesn't say anything, I continue. "I had so much trust in _you_ , even when you refused to tell us who hacked-"

"Simon."

"-the cameras. Did I think you were also someone who was trying to kill me? Did I yell at you for not giving up information that could potentially save my _life_?" I say, my voice rising. "No, I didn't. Don't you think I deserve some of this mutual trust too? Don't you think I should at least be given a chance to speak for myself?"

Isabelle's face grows hard. "Fine. Speak."

I take a deep breath and stand up without slipping this time. "I don't know who wrote that letter, but it wasn't me. Maybe a for-"

"First a hacker, now a forger?" She laughs. "What the hell do you want from me, Clary? Are you saying I know a forger too?"

It's convincing, except for the fact that her voice cracks at the end. Isabelle's eyes dart away and I glare at her in disbelief. "Do you?"

"No, I _don't_ ," she says forcefully, looking me in the eye.

I'm not sure whether I can believe her anymore, but I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt. "So you still think I wrote that letter?"

"Yes, I do. I practically know everyone here and no one is a forger. Simon lets me spy on everyone and I haven't seen anyone copy someone else's handwriting before." Isabelle almost seems to be proud of her hacker.

"Have you seen _me_ write the letter, then?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"No, but you always could've done it in the bathroom. There aren't any cameras there," she says with a shrug.

I groan and stomp like a child. "Why don't you believe me?"

"Ever read Nancy Drew? All the evidence points to you, idiot!" Isabelle's voice is getting louder.

"Ever heard of a twist in the story? You don't _know_ all the evidence!"

"Gee, I wonder. How would anyone else know about my playlist?"

"Maybe because the whole bus heard it when you turned it onto full volume!"

"And somehow one of them heard it and framed you?"

"Yes!" I shout even though I know how ridiculous it sounds.

There's a moment of silence while both of us are trying hard not to rip out each other's hair.

The door suddenly creaks open and Maia steps in, still in uniform, eyes wide. Then she sees Isabelle and hatred burns within her dark irises. She snarls, " _You_."

"What?" Isabelle snaps, and then gets cut off as Maia lunges at her, raking at her face.

I can't hold back a shriek as I watch them roll onto the floor, pulling at noses and ears and ripping at their mouths. All training technique is forgotten as they go into full sissy-fight mode. Quickly, I head towards the door to find help, but something Maia says stops me.

"You ruined Alec's life, you motherfucking bitch!"

Although Maia hasn't exactly been hospitable to me, I know her to be delicate and shy. Hearing her say two curse words in one sentence is a little overwhelming. But before I can hold back, I blurt, "You like Alec?"

Both of them stop grappling and look at me. Maia's expression is that of horror and humiliation. She lets go of Isabelle and stumbles to her feet, running out the room without a backwards glance.

Isabelle, on the other hand, gets to her feet slowly. Surprisingly, her face is unmarked. "What was that?"

"I...I don't know," I whisper.

When do I know anything nowadays?

* * *

 **I'm alive.**

 **I had my three day grad trip a couple days ago and yesterday I had a piano recital...-_- I hardly got to touch my laptop after I updated on Tuesday for _The Drug Lord_. Please don't kill me.**

 **I decided to add some more drama to make up for my absence...muahahaha! I hope you like it, and if you do, review!**

 **-RtMiP**


	17. Act Like Something Happened

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

* * *

After that bathroom incident, I almost feel bad for Isabelle. The letter certainly does not look like something she'd write, especially to her own brother and worse, Maia has taken it upon herself to spread the news. All throughout breakfast, people whisper and point at Isabelle, sharing knowing glances and looks of disdain and disgust. She has her head down and tears in her food, but doesn't utter a single word. Several times I want to say something to make her feel better, but remember her accusation towards me and keep quiet.

I'm having an argument with a piece of poorly buttered toast when Aline stalks up behind Isabelle and smirks. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

My mouth opens to say something, but again I stop myself. It's not as if the raven-haired girl would actually yield.

"Now that I think about it, the letter doesn't _really_ seem like something you'd say. Maybe someone who's jealous?" Aline asks and looks meaningfully at me.

"Cut it out, Penhallow," I hiss beneath my breath so that only she could hear.

"Touchy, Satan. Why so nervous?" She giggles and rests a delicate hand on Isabelle's shoulder and I want to do nothing but snap her fingers at the joints. "Afraid someone will uncover the secret?"

That's when something clicks and my stomach clenches. Ignoring Aline, I say, "Isabelle, how does Maia know about the letter? You didn't tell her, did you?"

She finally looks up with puffy red eyes. "No, of course not. I'm not stupid."

"Then...who did?" I ask, leaning forward with wide eyes.

Isabelle's face morphs into a look of confusion as the realization dawns on her. Without another word, she starts to leave her seat, but my hand shoots out and grabs her wrist. "Where are you going?"

"Simon," she says forcefully and snatches her arm away, walking briskly to the cafeteria exit.

 _Simon?_ An uneasy feeling begins settling in my stomach. Why does everything revolve around him? First the camera hacking, now this? What does he have to do with _this_? Before any more questions surface in my racing mind, I remember Aline's still standing there, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at me. I glare back. "What?"

"Nothing," she says dismissively, very unlike her. "You guys are just so oblivious."

"What do you mean?" I prod carefully, twirling my fork around my scrambled eggs to seem like I don't really care.

She scoffs and tosses her thick black hair over a shoulder. "Everyone knows Simon likes Maia, Satan. He'd tell her anything she wants to know, aka the letter."

My eyebrows knit together. Never would've thought Aline's more into gossip than Iz. "I thought it was Isabelle and Simon?"

"Pfft, no. It's a semi-formed love triangle, obviously. Isabelle to Simon, Simon to Maia, and Isabelle and Maia hating each other because Maia is to Isabelle's gay brother. Worse than a soap opera," Aline muses and tips back her head slightly.

I don't think that's it, though. Why would Simon do something to hurt someone he liked? Why would Simon do something to hurt someone who liked him? It doesn't make any sense. Once Isabelle knows Simon told Maia, she'd be devastated. Unless...someone wants her to be? Yet she doesn't have any enemies here... My forehead hurts from thinking so hard.

"So...was it you?" Aline asks suddenly in a serious tone.

"Was it me who wrote the letter?" I shake my head immediately. "No, it wasn't. Why would I do that?"

"To hit two birds with one stone," she says smoothly. "Ever heard that phrase, or are you too-"

"I have." Strangely, it doesn't seem like an insult. It's her personality, almost, what with the abrasiveness and all. All I have to do is filter out the swear words, the copy-and-paste roasts from online, and I can understand what she's actually saying. The thought calms me.

She rolls her eyes and turns to leave. "I'm done talking with you. It lowers both my IQ and EQ."

Despite of her comment, I grin.

* * *

I take a deep breath.

This is it.

Just go up to him, Clary.

Just do it.

My hand involuntarily knocks the wall beside me, even though Jace and I are in the same room. It catches his attention and he raises an eyebrow.

Breathe. "We need to talk."

"Okay," he says, but his eyes don't leave the television screen that he seems so glued to nowadays. "Talk."

"Are you avoiding me?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"Why would you think that?" It comes out in a murmer, so I'm not entirely convinced.

"Because." I wave my hand around in the air like a maniac, trying to find the right words. Failing.

"Because?" he asks, barely moving his lips.

" _Because_ ," I say, "I yell at you and you act like nothing happened. Then you go onto...onto... _kissing_ me and you again act like nothing happened. What do I have to do to make you act like something happened?"

It comes out wrong. I know it does. Blood flushes my cheeks and I chew the inside of my bottom lip.

Jace finally turns to look at me, expressionless. Or rather, a funny expression that I can't make out. In a soft voice, he says, "How would you like me to act?"

"I-I don't know!" I say, but my voice falters. "Worried, at least?"

"I _am_ worried," he replies, but his dull tone doesn't help persuade me. "More than you know."

Something in his second sentence chills me. The way he says it doesn't make it seem like we're talking about the same thing. It's...distant, like he knows something I don't.

Anger comes out of nowhere and I slam the door closed to the bedroom, falling onto the mattress. I lift the bedside lamp slightly and bring out the slip of crumpled paper from underneath its hiding spot. The word 'traitor' has branded itself in my mind, though I am far from one.

I hold onto the paper like its my lifeline as I fall asleep.

* * *

 **I am DONE with middle school! I graduated with honour roll (muahahahahaha!) and got the Gloria Vitale award for reading and writing and literature... MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Sorry, really excited.**

 ** _Anyway._ Some key sentences to focus on in this chapter:**

 **"** What do I have to do to make you act like something happened? **"-Clary**

 **"** The way he says it doesn't make it seem like we're talking about the same thing. **"**

 **"** Unless...someone wants her to be? Yet she doesn't have any enemies here... **"**

 **This chapter drops so many clues my face is like: -_- But in my opinion it's still really hard to understand why someone wants Isabelle to 'break up' with Simon with the information presented so far. Anyone who guesses the next victim (other than Clary and Isabelle) gets a spoiler! If you want one, that is... If you don't, you'll get a shoutout!**

 **I know this is a very long AN but I have too much to say... I think I'm falling in love with Shawn Mendes. Arghhhhh! I normally don't like pop songs (any songs with lyrics) but on my grad trip we played this game on the several-hour-long ride home where we had to guess the name of the song as fast as we could... Unfortunately, I'm basically retarded in the pop music industry so I kind of sat there for several hours without being allowed to do anything but watch others raise their hands. That's why I'm starting to study more songs.**

 **I remembered one of my friends mentioning going to one of Shawn's concerts in Toronto (I live there and so does Shawn... OMFG) so I checked out some of his songs and I basically died. Yippee.**

 **If you guys have any good songs to recommend to me, shoot!** **If you enjoyed the suspense of this chapter, review!**

 **-RtMiP**


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